Mungo's Last Six Years

Months ago, back in Florida when it was only March-ish, guessin', I created a 2 hour video. Collected from 12 hours of hi-8 tape, the six years of my military service were condensed into one single-sitting wild flashback of lightning movement. This tape was made at the request of Hillary who knew there was half a days' worth of fabulous footage in a dusty corner of my Bayfront apartment. Now, December 26th 2004 is here and I have watched it all. Memories of my friends and of my adventures are heavy en-thought now. You guys were all there, amoungst the mountains, musicians, breakfasts, and states.

My posters are falling off the walls. Too many weeks spent curled in some white cardboard tube has left them begging to return to that form. Like babies just born cry for the warmth of the womb, my posters are now curled on the floor, stuck still to the short black strips of electrical tape now picking the dust and miniscule garbage remnants from my unvaccumed floor. These are the things that happen at 3:28 a.m.

The last of my laundry is buzzing every 3 minutes in the old-school dryer near the entrance to the garage. In a moment, it will all be hung with it's clean brothers of short and long sleeves. Earlier this evening I discovered a tragic blunder. I left my digital voice recorder in the cargo pocket of my brown pants. After being washed and brutally dried, the silver electronic device no longer operates in it's intended capacity. It is now garbage, it's voices and recorded ideas are lost to some digital heaven. My spirit, I believe, is analoge and I will not join the voices after my death. If any of you believe your souls to be digital, please make note to greet my lost recordings in the afterlife. Thank you.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUZ!

Peace and Love,
Mungo