And death i think is no parenthesis

So today I was going through a bunch of old notebooks I had stashed away in one of my dresser drawers. I was curious what kinds of things I had written in these things, some of which date back to my first years of high school. A few observations: 1) I had an awesome sense of humor. Where did that go? 2) My memories of the past often do not include my emotional state of the time. I read many entries about how miserable I was at certain points of my life, and I have a hard time remembering those feelings. 3) To build on #2, my past feelings aren't the only things that are unrecognizable. Some of those things were written by an entirely different person, somebody I would hardly recognize as myself were I to have coffee with him today. 4) My handwriting varies from wildly illegible to quite good. Why the hell didn't I just always  write in the latter style? 5) Some of the events I wrote about are still too painful for me to re-read, even after years of dis...

In March, I'm taking a much-needed leave of the city. Kansas City, thank you for the music, the food, the museums, and the hot hang-out spots, but frankly, you can go to Hell. A few weeks ago, I found myself standing at my window as the sun was setting, contemplating the streets and buildings below me. What I said came out almost automatically: "Every man, woman, and child in this city will die by my hand." Yep. I need a vacation. The city is just too full of people.  Every day that passes, I feel my patience for other people waning, my disgust bubbling over. In traffic, in the suburbs, in the library - it doesn't matter where I am - the people that surround me are rude, ignorant, or worse. Sometimes, I watch the sun go down over the West Bottoms from the edge of the park across the street. I like to watch the traffic, the trains, and the people in miniature. It's like a little anthill down there. Usually, an eagle or a flock of crows will catc...