not everything should be shared, but some things will be...
henry's mother came into the room and found her six year old son bashing away at his fathers typewriter.
"what are you writing henry?" she asked.
to which he replied, simply,
-dec 5th 2011. some airport between san jose costa rica and vancouver.
I had a bad desire, it was unhealthy, I've curbed it, but it was....
journal entry: nov 24th 2011, hatillo, costa rica.
(I don't know why I wrote this, underlined at that---->) titled "the busky venus?"
"another rainy day. posted up once again. my calluses have almost all shed from my feet and hands. my love for rum has become disgusting. I become a slobbering fool at the sight of it. my hands shake in anticipation as I unscrew the cap and pour a glass, then to torture myself further, I smell it and make the ice cubes dance for a while, I put it down, light a cigarette, then pretend it's not there, slyly glancing back at it ever so often. I wait until the glass becomes wet with perspiration then I rim the glass with a slice of lime that I have precut, I then stir the concoction with my finger and not until I have licked my fingers do I lift the cup to my lips and take a sip. this is not alcoholism, no this is alcohol-lust."
followed up with a quick...
"this chicken has taken refuge in the front yard, tired of being pummeled by the feisty cock out back. I suppose i'll take it home to Canada, and she'll shower me with eggs."
(she mysteriously died on the front porch, tipped with her beak to the ground, body upright)