The Modesty Writers Guild

A Blindman once stood upon this corner, complete with wooden pole, attached to a medal fixture at the bottom to announce his arrival. He waves his cane to and frough in the air, looking for what he can not see. He tapes the stick upon the ground. He is in such a foreign place, now searching for what he can not find. he wanders a few feet to the north, seeing clearly that this may not be the correct direction. East feels better, he strengthens his stride in that direction. His staff hits pavement, then stone, then gravel which soon turns to ash. South then, or west perhaps he thinks silently... or southwest, but first he must find where he began from. Aimlessly he wanders, eagerly searching for something he will never lay eyes upon. But look! who are all those people following his every move? A sea of men and women who can all see on their own, but they are all silent, watching. They do not turn in any direction other then this blind man with an elegant title! Who...

oh the triumph of man, over. to august my friend! we will march on. and were we all happy in our ametuer youth? one would hope. i wonder if i will want to or could exhange this day for that, if but one. i know to run again would be a feet! and but again i will, or fly? who knows, and at that age will i care? i will reminice on a lovers first kiss and on more innocent times. oh Tabitha we were free once. we were young once, we were free and innocent once. -Blaise Lawhawne 1876-?

oh how failure knows me by name. she follows me from street to street. her lipstick traces stain pillow cases, and yet she, relentlessly places my face upon gravel, and broken glass made of words and deeds. while bleeding i find friends vanish as ghosts and the corpse of loves past turn up missing. realize this; it is not the success that measures the worth of a man, but how and if he learns from his failure that set him apart.

amsterdamn

Why is it that Americans so crave immortality? Well there is no such thing to my knowledge, yet if we could buy it would we? Are we scared of death or the unknown, and if we are not why do we put such an emphasis on youth? The most confusing, lonely, forlorn years of my life are glorified as "the best years of my life" as one of my high school teachers put it. Was she insane? She must have had a better high school experience than I did, I remember sitting in class after she said that scared, and pissed. "If its all downhill from here i am f#$^@!". The American Indians and Eskimos revere the elderly in their tribes, they knew that they had great wisdom and many years of knowledge that could better their lives. Now we heave elderly into homes and forget their existence. I "adopted a grandparent" when I was living in Orlando, it was a class project for humanities but even after the semester was over I kept visiting "Billy". I saw pictures of h...