(Last year, I started adding some of my journal entries from 1983 onto my blog. I got my January entries up, and got distracted. Recently, I’ve been thinking about 1983 again, so I’m posting a few more entries. To see previous entries, check my 1983 section.)

February 5, 1983: After a long sleep, I return to reading and listening to music. An old Celt talks about the three major traditions of Irsh music, to lull, to rejoice, and to lament. And what are the traditions of commercial radio? Full of Bukoswki. Bourbon, waiting for a dinner with old friends.

February 6, 1983: Weary again. Misanthropic. Moving back to romance, to money. Millions of people throughout the ages aspire to be something other than one of millions of aspirants. I don’t know what I want except right now I want sleep.

February 7, 1983: An upper right side performance: beautiful women, horrible lovers, speaking of this recognition or that, helps add to by cynicism. An icicle hangs in front of the TV camera which keeps the apartment safe. Pausing to ponder provkes police. Peace, people. Reading George Eliot. I’m feeling romantic again.

February 8, 1983: Joys of hacking. Sitting at comp center terminal exploring the system. Broken trains. New projects. George Eliot. Finding a face-up penny. Arranging a spur of the minute date. Bad headache. So much for now.