The earliest of my journals. 2006.

1
I want to write sometimes I just want to write until my mouth is open wide and nothing is coming out except words words words glorious glorious words all removed expulsed released so precisely from my body. Oh how I yearn yearn yearn to be free of this confusion this this complete lack of sensical whimsical thought feeling being. I wish. Sometimes I truly wish that I could know instead of wonder wonder wonder know instead of wonder but immediately that notion has eradicated completely eradicated the creative thread that is sewn so precisely inside of me sewn sewn so exactly so innately deep within me.

Are you reading this I want you to read this I want your full full complete attention and I want you to understand comprehend me. Where do we go what do we do from this point I don't know I don't I don't I don't know at all what to do or what to think or what to feel. You make me feel. You make me feel like I haven't felt in a long long very long complicated time. The confusion begins here this is where the confusion confusion is emitted from it roots deep within me and perhaps perhaps perhaps this is all a dream am I dreaming? Wake up wake up wake up you aren't dreaming you're alive you are fully alive alive aware of everything I am conscious preconscious subconscious unconscious all at once. All all all at once. This morning I wake woke up and thought thought thought of it that you I thought for a long time and it that you would appear flitting flitting flitting off and on throughout my dreams daydreams nightdreams dreams flitting continuously moving floating seeping sleeping sitting starting to initiate deeper thought. I digress. I walk walk walk to class go to class think in class behave like every other robotic mass pretending to feel and think and go to class. I fall fall fall hard and fast for everything I see and pass I fall for you. I shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't but I do. I do. And I cannot help the feelings that begin to recollect again as I walk walk walk back and forth forth forth to class to school to room to chair to floor to desk. Once again the perplexing suburbia becomes reality and I walk walk walk up the hard black asphalt the hilly hard asphalt that leads to nowhere leads to nowhere fast. Walk walk walk now I feel again I feel completely no longer I robot I feel satiated. Most of my hunger most most most has been satiated. I sit. I watch. I listen. Flitting flitting flitting flitting the brain recalls the faint moments between conscious and unconscious preconscious where you continue to flit flit flit. I feel. I feel you it flit it now it's late late late and I have to quietly remove myself. Think of nothing but what is about to be done. What is about to be done. It has to be done. Oh dear I know you're sad and I'm so sorry so so sorry. I worry so much about you you you are not incapable or unfeeling or unstrong you must give yourself love love love you must love yourself.

A message from a friend arrives.
A wonderful lovely beautiful contagious friend brings a message from another.
A messy fanatical message from afar. I shall comply.
Send word that I shall comply.
I think to myself I love you, friend. I love you so much. And he leaves with word.

Late late later much later I leave too and comply. Walk walk walk climb climb stairs but before the door is even touched it opens. Hello friend good dear friend. To warm myself I enter the doorway I walk into the very wide spacious small spacious carpeted room. Hello other new friend new beautiful lovely wonderful friend. Light up oh how it that lit up bright and warm and open oh how lovely you are. Lovely lovely. We meet again quite unexpectedly quite lovely and unexpectedly oh beautiful motion you stir within me again again again. Talk talk talk about nonsense verbal physical nonsense oh what to do between the nonsense I want to tell good dear friend how I feel I want to scream how I feel and fell and fall and think of nothing at all except the flit flit flit of the new lovely friend. Friend. Oh dear.

I want to scream so loudly that no one can misunderstand misinterpret misconstrue any of it.

If you believe it is real then it becomes so. It is real. Be real. We are real.

We talk talk talk outside in the frigid frigid air. Cloudy breath emanates habitually repeatedly robotically from my mouth. I can't feel my nose pink pink raw nose warm with cold frozen but we talk and talk and now more than ever it wants to escape me it wants to remove itself from me I want to scream softly softly not violently softly all the things I feel in this that very moment. Oh how complex complicated I feel. My heart becomes the same color as my nose nose nose and hair it feels that way too soft and vulnerable soft soft and vulnerable but numb in places that I can't feel. The feeling will return eventually eventually and then eventually I will be able to feel everything everything that makes us vulnerable.

Eventually I will be able to feel comfortably wonderfully delicately vulnerable again. Someday you it that will know but now it's hard not to hope and want and feel so enamored with it that you. At this point moment time I know from my past that I shouldn't be hopeful wantful full of feeling but I am once again in this beautifully amazingly painfully precarious situation. Again again again.

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2
We sat in the car listening to all his sonic masterpieces just absorbing all of our thoughts. Talking was optional, as most of our other senses were being opened inside of us as we were just sitting there. Just sitting. Just listening. Just absorbing. "That's such a good way of putting it."

I fell asleep and the snow began to fall.

I dreamt of the past.

We stood there in the rain just holding each other feeling our hearts beating rapidly inside of our ribs. It was so surreal. The street lights were flickering under the dark cloudy sky. I couldn't fall asleep that night. My heart continued to pound relentlessly inside of me.

Now my heart pounds for a different reason.

I feel exhausted. My cheeks and nose are raw. Pink and swollen. It all happened so quickly. I didn't have any time to absorb it. Now I sleep again. Secretly hoping to float away in the silence.

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3
I'm ready I'm ready I'm ready I'm ready to go to leave to find a way to go away to be me, free and able to know what I am who I am where I am. These shells and bottles collecting my dust envelope the silence that becomes a must because the ones who surround me most I toast to you who think you know me who think you feel you know me most. It's funny I feel I feel it's funny how cynical alive and dead we conceal our feelings of real reality and the things we do for comformity and the sake of appearing to be a normal. A normal what? We ask you I ask me you ask we who is the only thing to see what do we see see see? He is the sea the sea to me he waves and watches me carefully and all I know is that with the sea comes tides and moons and desperately blowing wind and dunes.

All along the sea was he and now that he watches me desperately I know it's gone the thing we knew and now exists all something new. I sing to he from shallow tides the ebbs and flows of great divide we grew together we grow apart and now I know he broke my heart. The sea takes me and doesn't he but now we live so peacefully away away we grow today and live on ships that don't betray. Now I live the life of work I work each day upon my ship and wear my patches hip to hip I row the boat I watch the sails I hold myself above the tales that claimed me once they claimed my heart and now I live beneath in smart. Each night I sleep a peaceful dream and wish I was a pirate gleam a wench in someone elses eye a grown young woman red and spry. The mornings come and oceans wave the sea it sees me all I've braved and takes me in as one it's own and naught fore long I'm overgrown. Overgrown and all grown up my words and wishes didn't stop and now I live a life at sea with sails and friends and tales free. I died at sea long ago and now spirit overflows among the waves that ebb and grow to aid another in their know. I was a gleam a wench a girl young and spry with all her worlds her worlds of joy and sad and love and now I rest up down above.

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4
Write a poem write a song tell me a story of long long ago we sit we talk we tell the tale of live and long contrived I love you you are loved oh no oh god its been gone for so long we go along and now its gone. We sit and wait for all the news this child is mine I've caught the cues and hues of life within me grow and grow along inside me long inside me now its over its all done you'll never release this child young he's gone so gone and all along I knew it was completely wrong and now but how we go along growing and glowing with a secret showing. His name IS it is it is it's something I know from somewhere else without a doubt I feel sure this child is mine and not at all at the same time. He was lost stolen taken away to me someone else and now he lives he breathes he glows he knows whats hiding lives oh god oh no where does the child come from where oh where oh where he was lost and gone and now he's just outside and crossed without himself.....

Now the boy is grown the boy who's name is known. His name is was always known and now he grows and tells the tale of when he grew alone inside the womb I imagine so that all along he knew he was a special boy. Different alone together with all the rest inside outside the world growing and glowing with nothing to hide from anyone anymore. We know from him we know from us how we all trust remains inside concealed alone HE sees it all and can't condone the visions and revisions shown we all attempt to grow alone but unsuccessful we become because this man this boy the one can tell us all what we've become with years of bookless growth and tears he tells a story of our fears our deepest fears that no one knows not even we do but it shows somehow it shows and that he knows. Now alone I face the boy the man whose conscience doesn't go noticed to anyone and no one knows who he is at all not even he because we see what we choose to see and believe what no one sees in ourselves and grow to be what others see and wish to see.

Someday he'll die this boy of mine this boy this man that belongs to everyone all at once "I'm on all their sides" he tells me twice and I know I'm always going to be to see to understand that to only he; he is his own but not for me and now I see that he will be the one the boy the man he be.