Sent: 10/6/2003 2:38 PM
I have been away from you for a long time. Far away. You have read my poetry and have tried to make sense of it, I guess. Perhaps. Perhaps it's read. I hope. But my journal.
Well, it seems, and is, years ago that I used to write in this journal so diligently, telling you my every thought. From writing of September 11th to something like a little drama with Verizon over our phone, you have seen a very real part of me. Of my life. I'm blessed to have you along for the journey. Thank you.
After I had written so much, and basically assumed that I had failed, as so many of my causes go undone, I began to pity myself. And others. It is unfortunate that I could become some jaded by all that has happened so quickly within the past few years. The machine didn't even seem to sputter. Everything churns along. The Iraq war went right on as thought, even hoped by some. Almost forgotten is the war on Afghanistan. Oh yes, September 11th is being called out left and right for so many different opinions, I had almost forgotten the day. The actual day. That day. The day it happened. It's hazed by swiftly layered political agendas. Seeking anything from power to money to revenge to fear. America. God help it.
Pouting. I can't help but pout and fume over you little country. New little country. Brand new little country. The blanket of red, white, and blue is not so old. If you are anxious to splash into history, it would be wise to read some and learn from mistakes. Oh, and goo goo you, you do have great promise. Just be careful your tread. Pout. Pout. fume.
I was swept up in watching the present American agenda continue its course towards its seeming oblivion. Alienation doesn't seem common sense when masses of aliens can be destructed. Who's on Mars? Watch your country. And yet it still arrogantly makes newer nukes while murdering so that one other little country doesn't have them. One little group. One single person. Billions of dollars in defense of one person in fear of his breeding more. Who's the alien? The Roman Empire is about to fall.
And yet I said all I thought I could say. No one was listening anyway. I felt as though I was speaking in a digital field in the vast of the pasture late at black night with not a human being in walking distance. So what was the use? Why should I care anymore? Nothing is changing. In fact, it only seems to be getting worse. I don't see any change. Real change in higher places in this world.
I have been away from you for a long time. Far away. You have read my poetry and have tried to make sense of it, I guess. Perhaps. Perhaps it's read. I hope. But my journal.
Well, this is what I'm feeling right now. I've been gurgling. Now I'm going to speak. And my first words. My first words.
