selections from E110 JOURNAL, Autumn 1991

October 2, 2010

self-portrait, PLR, Autumn 1991


Ya see, man, I was fallin’ down this deep hole. It was forever. But like a cavern or somethin’. There was, like, Indian stories on the walls, but I couldn’t make them out. I was falling too fast. But suddenly this beautiful girl reached out and grabbed me. She was in her own little cave but she told me she was leaving soon. Her eyes changed colors in the dancing shadows. I was overcome by desire, so I kissed her. I kissed her good and hard. And she let go. I struggled to hold on, but my fingers slipped through the dirt, and as the dirt turned into rock, the rock was too steep, so I gave up. Suddenly, she held my hand again and pulled me up from the ice. She told me to watch myself from now on because she needed me for something and did not want to loose me. I gave her my word I would never leave. Through her I could see happiness, not just satisfaction.

Now, it was dark in that cave, so I wasn’t sure, but I think she was dressed in white. We laughed and played and learned about ourselves through each other. She asked me what the hell I thought I was doing, falling in nothing like that. I couldn’t really answer; I told her I got really bored just hanging around in the dirt. No Indians had left any stories as high up as I was, so I figured I’d check out what else was around. She asked if I thought that was a wise decision. I looked her right in the eyes and firmly said, “Yes.”

She told me she preferred to stay right here where she was in control of things, so I asked why she was leaving. She mumbled something about responsibility and becoming a woman. I wondered what made her think she wasn’t one already. After all, she was the one who helped me become a man. She was the smartest person I’d ever come across, and with that personality, I could not help but to love her… She didn’t understand why and I couldn’t explain. It was just this way. She said she might become a teacher, and I asked her to show me what the Indian stories read and she said she wasn’t sure. I suggested that we learn together. I told her I thought I was a Shaman—or a liar. A comforting voice reassured me I was only a storyteller.

5:51 AM

Sunday mornings are Hell. You get no sleep because thoughts of her and last evening stir through your mind forever. So, you lie awake all night damning yourself for loving her because every song on the radio reminds you of some part of the relationship. Until the radio goes out as the music turns to talk shows and church, but you know if you turn off the switch the silence will eat you alive. TV sounds good; flip through has been preachers, another study of the Third Reich, B-rated cable-edited porn until finally some decent cartoons come on. As Wiley E. Coyote descends into nothing, you drift off thinking Mom will come and get you for breakfast soon. Waffles and sausage and a big ole glass of OJ—you can smell it cooking. She’ll put you in your Sunday best and tell you not play until we get home from church to change. But today, there’ll be no time for breakfast, no time for play. We humans have surpassed our Maker; even the Supreme Being takes a rest once a week. No time for that; there’s work to be done!

There is church in Hell. It is much the same as what we have here on Earth. All the hypocrites and dollar worshipers line up the pews to sing backward hymns. As they pass around the money plate, it is their souls they toss away, instead of their pride.


I saw a sunset the other day that I really dug. The colors were rainbow and the clouds were twisting playfully in the sky, fading in and out of each other. It was like falling in love, everything fresh and new. It freaked me out, this love stuff, and I looked away for maybe a moment, and then the sky was gray. The clouds fought for space battling out their individuality. They sky grew lonely for passion…

Suddenly, a deep red blood poured across the sky and faded to orange. The trees, black against the auburn sky, tossed about in the wind. Time stopped: love forever. Then, the first star appeared in the sky. A full moon appeared on the Eastern horizon to light our path home.


I love to take lazy afternoon naps. Not only are they peaceful and reviving to the body and the mind; they are journeys. When I close my eyes I can be anywhere in space and time I wish. I can be with anyone I wish. I can have her back with me and live the past again. I am a gallant knight on a quest for love or a rock-n-roll star searching for sex and death. I’ve been from mountain tops to the bottom of the sea; man, I’ve been on the moon. I used to ride with Billy the Kid, and once I challenged Robin Hood with the bow and arrow. I’ve made love in the sunsets, sailed the Seven Seas; I’ve discovered new worlds and destroyed the old ones. I’ve predicted the future; I wrote a new history. I’ve seen the world and beyond, man, right out back in my hammock.


John is leaving for the Marines tomorrow. Last night he said he couldn’t believe we were saying goodbye. I told him there were no goodbyes in this world, only loose ends. He came back with a saying from his grandmother: “There are no goodbyes, only See-You-Laters.” These certainly are words to live by, but I think mine are more truthful. Fate weaves people in and out of our lives. There are only a select few we allow into our soul patterns and when one of those we trust leaves, the pattern becomes broken. With such loose ends the pattern can become unraveled; the more loose ends, the greater the chances of unraveling.

You can control the intricacy of your pattern by the interest you take in life. The people you choose to develop with determines the color; however, because so much of the pattern is made up of everyone else’s threads, we can’t always control it.

I think my pattern may be ugly, chaotic and clumpy. But I’ll miss John. He was one of the strongest threads that helped hold me together.


Man, I’d love to be a rock-n-roll star. Everything I dig wrapped up into one career. You get paid to sing and dance. You get paid to travel and see the world. And everybody loves you! Except the parents who hate you. But it’s much more than that, you see. I’d be a modern day philosopher, a great poet and musician. With every new song I write, I’d be an actor playing a new role for the stage. I’d be the inspiration for a young kid’s dream. I’d be a politician, a shaper of the world. I would represent the good times for those who make it the future. I’d have the power to create love with my ballads: to make babies. But I’d also have the power to destroy weak-minded-souls with the wailing of my down and dirty blues. I could cause all kinds of controversy, and still save the whales.

My ideas would last forever; the possibilities are endless. Ha! I could be a demi-god.


Lord, why don’t you vanquish this demon on my back?
Been weighin’ me down so low, I’m sinkin’ in the past.
Claws grippin’ my eyes, so I can never find my sight.
Blood runs through my nose and mouth, for my breath I have to fight.
Legs wrapped around my arms, so I cannot hold her near.
Pointed tail weaves about my knees so I fall and trip in fear.
Demon’s flyin’ me so low to that fiery eternal hole.
Lord, why don’t you vanquish this demon from my soul.


The Reference Room in the Morris Library at the University of Delaware is the Gateway to Hell. That is all I have to say for now.


The worst part about growing up and maturing is realizing you’re not invincible; finding out your time is limited. My dreams aren’t as big as they used to be. I want to do everything there is to do, but I’m afraid I’ll end up alone. I used to think I’d never have time for anything like a wife and family. But now that I’ve come to know what alone is, I think I’d rather die loving someone than to die with a check-list of accomplishments. Did you ever see the movie Robin Hood with Kevin Costner? One way I see myself is this: I always wanted to be Robin Hood, but I’m more like his younger half-brother. The sneaky guy in the inside, hidden by the shadows. I no longer have the need to be a hero. I just want to be a good man, and a good friend.


play with fire
you’re gonna get burnt
the only thing in this world
I learnt

the sparks are flying
higher and higher
Lord doncha ever
put out my fire

thunder clouds
seed the pouring rain
rain that cleanses my soul
with pain

the floods are rising
higher and higher
Lord woncha teach me
dance with desire

woman’s gone
now my heart’s my own
devil whispers in my ear

the ice is gripping
higher and higher
Lord lovin’s no good
when from a liar

play with fire
you’re gonna get burnt
only thing in this world
I learnt

the flames are rising
higher and higher
Lord woncha teach me
dance with desire


Oh, the Lord is truly good to me. I basically have three dreams: to love somebody, to see the world, and to be a writer. I had planned on giving up the first two and concentrate on the latter, but I believe I may be able to have all three. I just pray I don’t try to juggle too much and screw everything up. I got me a lot of experience in that department……A lot of intelligent people I know got that way by reading books and watching tv. That’s not for me; I want to go out and collect my knowledge. I want to live! I need money for experience, not for nice big toys. I’m going to make it. No problem.

selections from E110 JOURNAL, Autumn 1991
Peter L Richardson


One Response to “selections from E110 JOURNAL, Autumn 1991”

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