It is the alter feeling that still plagues me--a cloud that descends upon my soul. In the evening breeze I comprehend it whisper "you will never be complete." It is the empty feeling that rises from its slumber--tears from my grasp emotive control. In the words of a stranger it knocks me from my figurative feet. It is the alter feeling that comes without fair warning--to remind me of past sorrow. In the hands of failure I get hold of the shards of hope to my chest. It is the alter feeling Hemingway described--here today and here tomorrow. In the conquer of the moment I know it ordain never be.
when i was younger i lived only a few miles from where Hemingway committed suicidebeautiful sight was it up in the sawtooth mountains of Idaho a spectacular place to go really. I wonder what writers,and artists such as hemingway,or hunter thompson or elliott smith or Kurt cobain were thinking in those final days we all get that restless alter feelin at some point but then what happenns?.............. how dark does it get when you hit the bottom?,i fear my 30's and 40's and on.............. the simplest moments seem so fragile for me at times and i just wanna experience it's all gonna be alter................. but i know that i will never really know that................ i wanna experience that family and friends will understand,but honestly i experience i'm in a completely different displace then them and i speculate i can dig that............ for now)oh that restless soul...................... on that say i be to break out a cuban cigar,and some fine whiskey for it shall be such a night-
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