I'm tied up with a particular story and several horribly depressing essays. In an attempt to keep these pages current, in the next few days, a look at all the scribblings I make in the few dozen notebooks I keep. Note that I'm only posting things that are incomplete, or terribly crude; things I've abandoned. Some of these tidbits actually date back to my freshman year of high school. I won't say they represent some of the worst things I've written, but I hope they do.I've heard more than one writer comment that the worst thing you can do is not finish things. It took me the better part of the decade to stop breaking that rule:***The sky is never blue here. Sometimes it teases our eyes with sinewy grays, who murmur cyan dreams of home. I miss them here, in the seemingly endless darkness. The only friends I had, lost to the living. I've watched them grow, unaware of insignificance, trying to find happiness in a world where such a thing is but an idea. And one by one they come and learn. I have inherited a kingdom without dreams. Awake and find me dying. I am reality. Come dream of me.***Some poems are like rays of light.Other are flashes in the dark.There are some like shooting stars;one I heard, like love at first sight.But there are few that stray too far.There for one, remembered for another,fleeting second.***Waiting is,swimming against the rapid stream,running through the dense grass,flying through your mind's eye.Definitely dreadful.***Isn't it just like the sun to forgetfully fail to illuminate my house?***Now that I think about it, this stuff makes me look real bad. hmm. More crap soon...