from may 14, 2003
Why, hello.
It has been days, months, and perhaps even years.
Indeed I may attest that things have changed,
as things will, and because such change is inevitable,
save for death, (in which case disintegration still pertains,)
I am changing as always. That much remains the same.
It is the eve of the 14th of the fine month of may.
I will remain fourteen for 3 hours and 19 minutes.
I feel responsible to this journal, this thing-- that once meant the world to me but now has degraded to a log of nostalgia....I read it now as I read the journals of my once-and-distant friends, to keep some strand of waxed-dental floss between us as the days grow shorter.
I am walking the path towards death.
Or, rather, we all walk it together from the time of birth.
A path, however, must be linear. The womb must be a train stop.
And excluding all beliefs in reincarnation, Hinduism, etc., I think it would be fascinating to walk the other way.
I've got a mental calender in my head.
December is on the bottom. Long, shallow, deep.
The bottom of a circle. Lowest possible arc. Spring climbs up the right side, and then there's May. May 15th takes up 2/3 of the month, right in the middle. It's filled with picnics and green pastures. According to the Hollerian calender, we are now riding on the top of the world. The summer drags us back down in a pititful descent 'till August, when the free-falling bodies hit the brick wall and land in the same, (or perhaps unfamiliar) hallways.
If I could say anything to myself now,
it's that I can't see where I am going.
Perhaps now I am who I once wanted to be.
But aspirations evolve.
The only continuuity is the nagging ego tucked away behind my left ear.
And, the mellow writings.
I wish you all happiness and moreover, memories.
Adieu, and happy birthday.
It has been days, months, and perhaps even years.
Indeed I may attest that things have changed,
as things will, and because such change is inevitable,
save for death, (in which case disintegration still pertains,)
I am changing as always. That much remains the same.
It is the eve of the 14th of the fine month of may.
I will remain fourteen for 3 hours and 19 minutes.
I feel responsible to this journal, this thing-- that once meant the world to me but now has degraded to a log of nostalgia....I read it now as I read the journals of my once-and-distant friends, to keep some strand of waxed-dental floss between us as the days grow shorter.
I am walking the path towards death.
Or, rather, we all walk it together from the time of birth.
A path, however, must be linear. The womb must be a train stop.
And excluding all beliefs in reincarnation, Hinduism, etc., I think it would be fascinating to walk the other way.
I've got a mental calender in my head.
December is on the bottom. Long, shallow, deep.
The bottom of a circle. Lowest possible arc. Spring climbs up the right side, and then there's May. May 15th takes up 2/3 of the month, right in the middle. It's filled with picnics and green pastures. According to the Hollerian calender, we are now riding on the top of the world. The summer drags us back down in a pititful descent 'till August, when the free-falling bodies hit the brick wall and land in the same, (or perhaps unfamiliar) hallways.
If I could say anything to myself now,
it's that I can't see where I am going.
Perhaps now I am who I once wanted to be.
But aspirations evolve.
The only continuuity is the nagging ego tucked away behind my left ear.
And, the mellow writings.
I wish you all happiness and moreover, memories.
Adieu, and happy birthday.