Hey guys,

*inspired by the song "Lover's Spit" by Broken Social Scene.

Golden red, your arms were a sinewy fence around
my form as we sat on the fire escape overlooking
a schizophrenic town.
Your lips tickled my cheek and I stroked the back
of your head, twisting
my fingers in your burnt wheat-colored strands.
"Remember when we used to get excited over
the smallest things," I asked.
"Like kissing awkwardly and
stumbling through doorways,
dragging in the scent of fresh
cut grass and angel's sweat?"
"Yeah," you said. "But let's play it out again,
baby, before Philadelphia

Thanks to all who read and left notes for my first journal entry, it's great to know that people here understand and care.

I've decided, with the urging of my brothers, to write a separate journal about how each of us met, which will lead to how we ended up being brothers.

I was three when my mom died, and honestly I don't remember her much. Fortunately we have lots of pictures of her, but otherwise she's just an illusion to me.

This will likely "strike home" for more than just a few Oasies™. The longing to be important in the life of another is well portrayed!

Let me tell you, my step-mother was a nasty piece of work. Greedy, manipulative, conniving and evil. She had given birth, the result of her first trap, to a male reptile two years younger than I. A boy who would live his life just as protected and probably even more swaddled outside of her womb as he was when he was still at the larva stage of his development.

Hey everyone. I'm back again. I've been pretty sick. I will probably get surgery in the next month or so. I hope it'll make me better. I might have to stop dancing for awhile. It's pretty depressing. I'll live though.