"Mother....no!"

So tonight Joan and I went to see "Mortified" at the Someday Lounge. It was awesome. Folks up on the stage reading their angsty journal entries from their middle and high school days. It was super fun and vindicating to experience that time through other people and realize that we are united in the tragic little beings of our youth.

So...in honor of the brave souls of Mortified...I give to you a little piece of prose written in May of 1982. I was 15, a sophmore in high school and experiencing the tragic lonliness of watching my friends head off on different paths...I was also about a year away from coming out...although I didn't know this at the time I wrote what was entitled:

An Excerpt of my Days

I walked up the long steps and down the path as I thought of the oncoming day. What would happen..and with whom would I associate best with?

On the road towards my hangout I saw ahead the regular toughs that stood around talking of girls, fights, cars and rock and roll. They were your typical high school hood guys. As I got closer I saw my usual group. A group..who strangely enough were not one with whom, given a minute to think about it, I would choose to hang with.
They were, eight months ago... a respectable type, but had changed dramatically since then. I loved them though - except for the one I wished I could kick the shit out of. I wrote something about her once on my friend's wall and she saw it. Little bitch tried to act tough about it, she wrote something about me, but I don't care. She doesn't scare me in the least.

There there's another one. Fucking crazy as hell and never willing to miss out on a dare. She's gotten in lot of trouble with the law - but she has never paid a single fine. Lucky...that's what' she is. Get's away with murder.

Then of course, there's one who I admire to high hell. Why? I haven't figured that out yet - I just do. She's my favorite - and lately she's been keeping better contact with me and stuff. Once I had a stomach ache and I just kind of said it outloud and she hugged me as if I was a little kid. I like that, it makes me feel cared for and loved. It doesn't make any difference to me who it is that makes me feel that way - male or female - it doesn't matter. I look up to her because I feel she really loves me. And for that, I love her a lot. It doesn't seem like a very good deal to some people, but I like it a lot...so who's gonna tell me I can't like it? Nobody - cause if they knew me...they know..that won't work.

God, that poor girl. Carol Bicknell was her name. I was so desperately confused. But probably not half as confused as she was by my....attention. So - there's that -- and much, much bad poetry. Here's just one tiny example:

When my spirit
Crawls inside me
I feel it should stay entrapped
I was young

I grew
My spirit came back
it knocked inside me
I knew I had to
Let it out

It took me over
I sailed
And I knew

The spirit
Is a free one
Don't imprison me
For you will find
I will escape.


What the?

Okay you guys --- drag it out, come on. If you've got any of this stuff leaching out of a cardboard box in the back of your closet, please share it by posting a comment here. I know you want to. Let 'er rip.