old journals and the nostalgia they muster up...

I found an old journal from college and came across some intresting pieces of prose... i wish i had never stopped writing in journals they dont crash like computers..... this prose had a really intresting sketch of my lower back piece... and upon reflection is the first ruff sketch of my lower back piece that i share with my brother nicholas.

DATE SOMETIME SOPHMORE YEAR

When the rodeo has displaced all of its cowboys
and its broncos are addicted to electricity,
the west is being held hostage.
When all the wild horses only run free under metal hoods
and use peteroleum for energy,
The trees have all been slayed to make space
for colonists longing to be celebrites
and tourists who want to forget about their lives for a while,
The ransom is the way things used to be....

Call me Mr. Pitiful, Baby thats my name....

Its been a while since i have blogged, but thats not what i would like to waste my time writing about... For my eyes are heavy as my stiff fingers awkwardly try to dance with these keys and make clarity of my static heart... I feel lately my life has been like a vicious game of hangman.... I have exasperated all of my vowels without a clue of a decent consonant to choose...
Anxious for sleep, my lips protrude like a child who hasnt gotten his way. Otis Redding soulfully seranades my weary soul and drowns out the runaway train of my thoughts...... Can i get a witness..... Sometimes i feel bad for feeling bad... I feel like skeletons envy my bones, failing to realize that i am just as bare, frail, and naked.... I often feel like a positve skeptic with red roses wishing that God had made them blue....Many people have said that when i write i sound very vulnerable and sad... I don't know what it is about scratching down syllables that makes me feel blue, or why i can relate to the inner turmoil of Morrissey's lyrics, or why one of my favorite quotes of all time is "everything was beautiful and nothing hurt" by Kurt Vonnegut.... These things are typically reserved for recluses.. Of which i am certainly not.... I am no Holden Caulfield, Kurt Cobain, or Andy Warhol... But what i do know oh witness of my rambling is that i love that i would rather hear sad songs on the radio ....... You can call me Mr. Pitiful... or you can call me honest... As my beautiful brother Nicholas has been quoted to say " vunerablity is a shade that looks good on everybody........