"Back When We Were Interesting"

I had a few blue pens and a notebook. That was the summer I lived in a strip motel while I worked the night shift making boxes at a blueberry processing plant for minimum wage. During the day I got stoned and wrote in a spiral notebook. I filled at least two or three of them that summer. Now, looking back across the haze of so many years, I’m convinced that they were filled with complete brilliance. But I’m equally convinced, if I could read them again, I’d find that they were full of absolute crap. Nevertheless, I wish I still had them.

I ended up destroying those notebooks in an almost ritualistic way. It was a total mistake; I know that now. Still, I would love to read them again. I’m sure they’d be full of absolute shit but they would also be full of the first youthful bloom of me, uninhibited and totally letting go, rambling for hours on end about nothing and everything.

Back then nothing and everything was all the same.