Inside these pages there are no borders to enslave me until I write of them.
I can create at the speed of my minds impulses.
I can crumple kingdoms with the crush of a wadded page.
In this Journal the moon is kissing my eyelids.
This Journal can take a tricky turn and become a mirror for the faceless man who is looking.
I'll let him see my dark unknown nameless that hides in each of us.
The Journal is black and white bland void of life until I pick up the pen with the vigor of a new born warrior poised to strike.




7 old applause
