I have told you about my trick. Or at least the tricks I’ve been looking to pull off, at least to some degree. I have nothing up my sleeve and no mirrors or anything like that. And this . . .
my tricks or whatever they may be; these are items of mine, or should I say that these are things that I have been working on in my one special workshop. So, please, be gentle or at least be kind when you look them over.

I am like a child who goes to art class and builds a collage or some kind of colorful contraption with sticks and glue. This may not seem like much to anyone else, but to me, this is more than just my life’s work.
This is more than anything to me.
I’ve taken chances before.

I say this is second to last
because today is the second to last day
that I spend time on this journal.

It’s time to plan ahead
and move forward.

Ready?

This one is going to sting
(a little)
or maybe not.

And so, it is . . .
I have no time for this
I have no tongue for the lies of my crimes
nor can I stand by as a witness
or be nothing else but a bystander
or some passerby,
watching . . .
nor can I be someone who submits or quits
and more, I cannot stand by and allow myself
to go down –
at least not without a fight.

I was reminded of my old friend Hank.
He and I used to walk from 7^th Avenue to 5^th after lunchtime.
Man, I used to love these walks.

How I met Hank is not important nor is this something that belongs in an open discussion. But at the same time, Hank and I shared a few ideas. We used to talk about life and go back and forth about our problems.

Everyone needs a break sometimes.
You need a day off. In fact, I think I need one right now.
Then again, I think I’ve told you about the song from Bill Joel called Vienna.
Right?
This world is a crazy place.
We are a special breed, you and I.
And I mean this with the best intentions.

Good morning, Sunday.
This is more than a letter, at least I hope so.
This is more like an extension of myself or the hopes to lay down the weapons. Perhaps this way, we can find a moment of peace.
I am told that my letters cannot reach you where you are now. I am told that you are part of the atmosphere or that you are simply elsewhere. Or maybe you are otherwise unreachable.
But I refuse to believe that.

I can tell you that there’s nothing like a breath of fresh air.
There’s nothing like being able to breathe when the air was nothing else but stagnant and thick, and somehow, or perhaps finally, a gust of wind blows passed your face and lifts your hair back.
And then it’s like, ah . . .
(Understand?)

I recall a morning, cold as ever, bright and beautiful and the world around me was still new.
I was young. The world was changing, and my life was about to take on a brand-new look.
I was on a farm. I was living in the middle of a time that I never thought I would rethink or look to revisit in my mind.
I lived on a farm in a small therapeutic community for 11 months. I was cleared from my past and facing the facts that I needed to undergo a change.