This is the second weekly installment of Tuesday’s Journal Past Blast, and I've decided to open it up as a blog hop. Feel invited to join the blog hop with the linky below, copy the above button and pin it to your blog, and post old journal entries. We'll share, laugh, cry, and just remember the past from our old journals. You don’t necessarily have to have an old journal, just some old writings that were your own.
This journal post is from sometime in 1990 or 1991. I actually do remember writing this, but don’t know if I realized how very hilarious it is.
Out of a Mess Comes Art
If each piece in my room represented a stroke of an artist’s brush, maybe then, instead of a junked-up, messy room, I would have created the masterpiece of the 20th century. I would have won that special artist’s prize and recognition before anyone else. My innermost private self would be copied in every rich person’s living room above the mantle of the fire place. And as they’d make love on the bear rug, they’d look up above the mantle at my garbage bag with trash spilling out, inside-out pants strewn about the floor, along with paper, shoes, books, and think of how talented that young Black woman artist is.
This journal, old as it is, has lost it's
cover, but still holds the truths ofmany secrets.