The sectional excerpt labeled “Confessions” from my journal is Not Suitable for Work. It is password protected. Please send me a password request if you would like to read it. However, be warned it is not to be taken lightly.
The following excerpts are from journal entries from the late 1990s-early 2000s. It wasn’t long living in that house before things began to go wrong. The Red Door was an omen that I never took heed of until it was too late. Jasin and Eli got along initially, and then
The following excerpts are from journal entries from the late 1990s-early 2000s. My handwriting is shaky because I am on the bus. Sometimes I hate New Orleans. I waited 30 minutes to catch the bus down Esplanade to get to Bohn Ford to retrieve my gate card from the car.
“Wars and temper tantrums are the makeshift of ignorance…” – Joseph Campbell
The first day I started upon the new venture, a boy walked in. Six feet tall, thin as a board, blonde mohawk, Gaelic tattoos covering his neck all the way down. Intense look about him, and I had never seen anyone like him before. His name was Elijah.
You do have a story inside you; it lies articulate and waiting to be written — behind your silence and your suffering. ― Anne Rice (October 4, 1941 – December 11, 2021)
The night before we left the Sleep Inn, I dreamed of going back to San Antonio to get our things. It was one of those dreams you think is waking life, but it turns out to be a false reality. I was shot in the back of the head in the vision and… I died. I remember passing. I felt the bullet go through me. I convulsed, my breath slowed, and I stopped. Fade to black.
It can become almost unbearable by summer, and it seemingly converges with the most overwhelming stench, particularly right out front of the establishment. We rarely frequent this cafe of the nighttime.
I have seen a few local celebrities here a few times; Trent Reznor, Anne Rice… it is quiet here. Apparently, I am not the only one that seeks shelter from prying eyes at the Prytania Coffeehouse.