I want to leave Pittsburgh. I want to get on a bus or better yet a train and go out west where it’s clear and bright. I'm sick of the fact that every day I seem the same buildings and same people. There's nothing wrong with these buildings or people but I yearn for change: the new. Everything has come too seem predictable and therefore dead.

While writing that last paragraph I thought of my entry to my paper journal from my freshmen year when I first came here . . . let me see if I can find it.
Oh it's not a proper entry it's poetry . . Figures. It'll still make my point though.


August 21, 1997

when open windows lose their panes
fly drawing light across the floor
shatter in and out and in
portals sockets open doors
glory! glory! glory! I'll shout then
for all that's ever out or in
is set to be just this or that
and not a part of all that is
and was and will forevermore
shake the glass!
break the wall!
down with boundaries
up with all


Where has that joy gone? Sure, it was rather undirected, but my poetry and voice in general is more quiet now: less driven. What has happened to me? Old and dead so soon?