"Sometimes I need to remember just to breathe." --Likin Park

"And I'm not scared now." --Seether

Long story short, those of you in the know, know that I keep an "idea book/journal" with me at nearly all times. I clutch it in a death grip when sleeping. I pour out my ideas into it, written in my own blood when I can't find a pen, ala Neil Gaimen. We talk alot. Her sweet voice is a whisper.

And though I'm exaggerating, I'm almost not. When the idea strikes via the dream, or that coworker utters just the right "punch line"...I'm always ready. The book is always there to record what memory can not save alone. Idea catcher, 24-7.

Inspiration is a flighty Angel. It's hard to hold magic.

The journal is the key to the poetry. (The blogs, the zine, the thoughts.)

The opening to the *Black Hole*.

My White Rabbit is made up of countless dollar store notebooks whose words are a soul. Mine.

Now imagine my chagrin when I dropped my notebook into the newly discovered 3/4 inch gap between my desk at work and the wall. (Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!)

Damn, I'm glad Big Corporate Giant bought that defibrillator a while back.

It's amazing how ingenious the desperate become. I got it back man. I got it back. Won't bore you with the details but I will say being without the book was like living in a depradation chamber.

I need the notebooks to think.

To feel.

To create.

And sometimes, to simply be.

We are our thoughts.

We are we.

And I am all that is this place.

How funny it is that a sprial bound collection of paper could so fully remind of who I am and what my destiny is. I am words. I am a writer.

I may lose a journal. But this feeling--this feeling I will never lose.