Journal Entry, 9/29

I've opened you up. And here you are--

like yesteryears and better days. It grips me--here--to take that glimpse back to when my roof was...my father's (although, really a third this is as well).

Anywho, a sick shudder flows through me; only a few years back...

Was it really?

A few crazy philosopsyfantasistics derived a clever thought: Nostalgia is as pure and true as a mild case of depression.

How utterly fucking right you are--sir.

In Time
I'll see, the Lime
The Breeze
In Scent, In Lips
Of Blood
Of Kiss:
Signed your masobliss of latter chists saints and wine.

Summer #3.

I am writing in the dark.
Because that is how I feel--dark.
Damp.
Dastardly.
Despicable.
Dine in dime you dozen.

Summer #2.

A match is removed

from the head of your bed.

A life is removed

until death due you dead.

Summer #1

A mask, a mall, a masquerade, a master lie, of master ties, in mainly high buildings.

That Memorable Dance.

I woke up not feeling today.

My toes are numb and my hands cold lay.

I wash my face and bite my scream.

Yet water seals words and stitches by each seam.

Crowds stream blurred and trees make turns.

As grey clouds sit and concrete burns.

Life moves like life that's soft, softer than your piece of life.

Beating in her pocket's womb, forgotten after late last night.

Soon, sooner than soon.

And now it's hours past noon.

And it still hasn't rained a drop.

Yet my shoes are wet.

And the rain has not stopped.

Vision Tunnels.

I'm back inside.

A fence takes five corners.

Your hand quiets my hush.

I bite lip and lush.

Set art straight.

Winter please hurry up and come.

X and O's

I apologize for my absence.

I know we have missed letters and found mince meat on this road less traveled. Like some fish out of water--they might propose.

Days are filled with less thans and more so's. Like battle ground X and O's. Slapped with the label of pretentious and flailing my arms in the smoke that fills this kitchen grease fire.

Lying in twinkle and tinsel, I kept my reputation straight by stealing a red cup. It was full of bum shouts and simple shakes plus rattles. I sat out on the balcony that night and smoked a fake fag.

I tapped a few toes and awaited a few laughs. I let my hair loose and cut off the rest. I switched from late nights to late mornings instead.