Over the coming days, I’ll continue to post entries from my 1983 journal.

January 4, 1983: Kerouac. Smooth sounds flowing simply, incessantly through thought thriving on despair. Speech pathology, philology, alliteration prepare poets for pondering profundities. A student reveals to George Bryce the style of his writing. Computers and contemplation can confuse creativity. Looking over my last four days writings I can see how my mood, interactions with other people and art affect my writing. Today is another day not good for writing. Tomorrow.

January 5, 1983: Applied to Lucasfilm. Mary spoke at prayer group. Rich expressed concerns of the disappearance of Grace from our Theology. Nostalgia supper. Is art justifiable? How about the religious life? Singledom. Loneliness. Kerouac takes things as they come. Good night.

January 6, 1983: Epiphany. John found out yesterday that I’m leaving. Spent the day arranging that. Steve stopped over bringing his receiver. Listening to music. Music of freedom. Clove cigarettes and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Peace. I’m ready for the road. Politics re-awakening. I need to learn how to write of that peace that passes understanding. Peace which knows no matter what, freezing roads, and failing marches, everything works out. “Everything that dies someday comes back” / “We can’t go back, we can only look behind” Chatting with Fritz on his problems.

January 7, 1983: Listening to the stereo. A day of plotting career strategies. Thoughts about monks. I am overwhelmed with quietness this evening, a quietness that expands to the farthest corners of the rooms, or to the farthest corners of my perceived room. It is not a quiet of peace. It is a quiet of longing for what is to be and a longing to express this foreboding of these journeys and express experience of previous trips. “Pleasures of the harbor” memories of old trips hopes of new.