One Day, You'll Look- To See I've Gone.

for tomorrow may rain so; I'll follow the sun.

27 April
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Not me, not mine.

"And the time came when the risk it took to remain in a tightly closed bud became
infinitely more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

Anais Nin

In a time of forgetting, I built myself a fortress of memory. All the words that soothed the hurt and calmed the inner storm. The words that saved me from myself, made me look before I crossed the road, stopped me when I would jump off a bridge at 3am, be found a corpulent, swollen mess floating amongst the tangled weed.

These are not really those words. Not all of them. But they are my contribution to the millions of meaninglessly blogged existences...'got up, saw a movie. it was nice. deep' . I try not to be banal, to show something a little bit rare. In my experience, the harder it is to learn something, the more valuable the lesson. I speak in a cryptic tongue because not to... to say what I mean and mean what I say- would be to join the masses of mere exhibitionist log-booking depressives of the journalling community. And we already have more than enough of those.

Ask your questions, if you so need. I may even answer them.

The Weather in Hell
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