Callback To A Time From Before This Time


Diary of a person

I have a multitude of sketchbooks and whenever I come close to using one up, I have bought or got as presents at least 2 more. Recently, I was disappointed with the quality of one I bought at Pearl paints earlier this month (it had generic manga character on it, I shouldn’t be surprised) and did not take ink at all well. I found an old leather bound one my parents got me years ago that I took initially when I biked (bicycle) across the country, but sent back when I reached michigan since it was so large. I tried documenting my journey, but my commitment is sporadic. Here’s an excerpt from the second day on the road:

I’m not adding any punctuation or grammar:

well, i’m at a hotel¬†motel in “wind gap” in pennsylvania. the people next door¬†are must be confused cause they keep knocking on my door i’m sitting naked watching anthony bourdain (earlier TNG). lots of things hurt but not the ones i’d assume.

at the outset i crossed the NYC bike tour which blocked my path. further into jersey two people asked me about my trip & said “god bless you” after i detailed my plan.

i went to a really greasy spoon diner for lunch. guy put a pat of margarine on anyeverything.

for dinner i went to a peruvian bagel place & had some kicken’ rotessarie chicken. when i found my campsite, covered in thorns i fell asleep okay but was woken up to grunting deer. i unseathed my knife since i got scared they ignored me, though.

for b’fast i went to an old person’s diner & had std fare. the people in there were talking about osama, obama while ‘the smiths’ played in the bg. i cursed the mountains again, but praised them on the way down yelling “i’ve got soul, but i’m not a soldier” it was fantastic. i made my way through jersey & got some lithuanian restaurant raisan bread & apples and ate it laughing at an abandoned restaurant. as i got to penn, the sun broke but a mountain got in my way and ruined my mood until the way down.


This made me a bit melancholic (my standard mood these years) as only I only made a few entries, drawings and pictures on the course of my trip, and my life as a whole. And it seems very unwise for someone with my memory not to document as much as I can. My life is certainly better than then, I’m certainly better than then, but as always, I’m afraid my life will turn from plastic to plastic.

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