September 28th, 2002


(no subject)

I - with my eyes burning more stronger than Robert De Niro's in "The Taxi Driver", my heart not more restless than a solder boy facing death in the battleline - started the engine of the bike I stole. Tension within myself made me high. Leading a life filled with rules is not a bad way. But, to be free, to be an outsider - that suits me, man. I heard footsteps approaching. "Hell with it! Like a hungry wolf, I climbed up the wall. I left my bike and ran away.

--- Ozaki Yutaka, [The Night]

(He was born on Nov 29 in 1965 and died Apr 25 1992. He lived for 9645 days and wrote 61 tunes and 6 albums)
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(no subject)

I know it.
I don't write well.
But I write for myself, like many other people.
I write to record.
I write to tell.
I write to face the monsters that lurk within the recesses of my heart.
I write to share.
I write to relieve myself, of the buried words of burden that presumably forgotten but not.
I write to tell a tale.
I write to confide my emotions.
I write to be known.
I write to put concrete something that is formless.
I write to document the past.
I write for a reason.

We all do.
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