journal July 1984 through September 1985

This stuff was written when I was 17 and still in high school. It was written in one of those little red one subject notebooks that teachers handed out for writing class. I have a few of these stowed away in my file cabinet. Even though there is nothing of true interest in them for me, some still show the footprints of my journey along the way and therefore I will save them:

Life is a search, a long endless journey. The individual tries to fit into new identities as they age. You look into yourself and discover masks, discard the old ones although strangely they might find their way back and surprise you later on. Our roles we play are often associated with our heroes and their bigger-than-life status. This is a fact I can’t ignore. There is something to this theater that drives me wild.
                                                                *

The endless yellow line stretches onward and backwards along the dim road. Separation occurs between vehicles, streets, people.

                                                                 *

I see a long dark road. Two hitchhikers appear, their thumbs bruised badly, skin burning and the longer they remain, the skin rots and stinks and disappears in time. This sure is hell. This damn road hurts more than a hundred spears, more than a romance lost. There are no stars, moon or daylight brightening my soul. But, honey, I must go. I’m sorry, really. I’m going to miss you. Could I have one snapshot of you in your silky gown? I want to bring it with me. I really love you. This emotion is strangling me, crushing my bones. Where is the bus stop?  When will this nightmare end? Can I reach you? Touch your soul? Just bear with me. I’m such an ugly child, I know. Full of mean wild thoughts. But somehow the world has shaped and given me form. Now I’m lost. Will this whirlwind of confusion end? Stop the world. I’m getting off.

                                                                    *

 I love the darkness in my room. A small candle flickers painfully, casting arthritic shadows against the wall to the silent music playing. I love to hide in the darkness where no one can see me. There are no smiles shining. The mirror reflects nothing.

                                                                    *

I’m sure of it now. The summer is plunging deeper into fall. I’m sure of it. The chilled morning; the breeze blows in the news and I’m sure of it now. The leaves are dreaming themselves into silent death.

                                                                     *

Infatuated with you America. Give me a taste of everything that grows on you— from here to there and back again like a river that runs across… America. I love you so.

 

                                                                      *

 The stars display shimmering Achaean shields. Wounded heroes of ancient Greece lie deep by Hades side, their graves covered by centuries of dust. Ah yes! The sad ancient mortals. Homer’s inspiring tale. The fair night calls me into a pit of darkness. Weary are strangers sleeping in their beds. A car wheels by. I sigh. Breathe.                                                                   

 

                                                                       *

 Loneliness clouds my vision, surrounds me as if I were a sad prophet. Streetlights glow. Dogs whine; another wags its tails at the sound of familiar footsteps along the driveway, approaching tentatively.

      

                                                                         *

 I wait, uneasily in the noisy bus depot. The roar of buses like mechanical gods hurts my tired head. My god arrives and there is a sign: Salvation.

                                                                         *

Long glance at the shoreline, soft turning waves and salty ocean spray. From the first twisted thump in my beating heart, I am captured and surrender.

                                                                           *

 The sun sets over the darkening horizon as he gazes sorrowfully into tomorrow, know that it will never come.

                                                                         *

 Nighttime on the beach, windy but vacant. Tiny creatures move through the wet sand.

                                                                         *

 The first drops of dew along the grass blade as the white clouds stir in ocean skies. The first flash of sun sticks my eye and penetrates my soul. The first drops of sadness fall from my punctured heart like rain puddling the soil. I am very wet.

                                                                         *

 

As the earth spins, the night rises, untired of eternity. The universe kneels. It’s darkness, mystery and majesty. And then, confusion is lost as morning beckons and a new day grows.

 

                                                                          *

Awake in the countryside. Senses aware. Things click. A truck rumbles by the open window. Lonely road. The sun rises. I catch a whiff of the pine trees in the breeze and its like a drug and makes me happy and forgetful.

 

                                                                          *

 

Depression is ugly.

Depression does trick.

Depression attacks

Our greatest gifts.

 

                                                                            *

 

My face shrouded in darkness. But I can see you sharply in the glass house.

 

                                                                            *

 

Hawaiian dancing girls drown at sea. The moon meanders across the night as the morning alchemist prepares its revival potion.

 

                                                                             *

 

These old stinky boots with their battered leather and those cracked soles, survivor of countless weathers. The tousled shredded laces. I bury them now. No more missions or journeys. I leave them to rest.

 

                                                                              *

 

Bathgate was teased his entire early years and despite it had grown into an intelligent teenager. One day strolling sadly through the woods he had a realization: all established values of society were dead, clinging to the world helplessly. Then came the white stallion on which there were no riders or saddles and it galloped passed him, heading nowhere and it’s aimlessness annoys Bathgate.