Syd's Journal
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The Sight Syd's Journal WordWorks View/Read Syd's Journal Excerpts from Syd's Journal Audio Recordings Gallery of Artwork Syd's Journal is a lamp on the window sill of my mind. The flame flickers and is unsteady. Sometimes it throws light which illuminates, and sometimes it merely glares. It isn't the torch of a hero, but more like the flashlight of a spy. The mission design is to publish art and creative writing.

"Hello. My name is Syd and I can't stop writing."

Syd's Journal began as personal letters to my friends and nothing more. It happens that I'm a graphic artist and and a sometimes writer so I'm not content to just put the words on the page and leave well enough alone--I have to set the type, design a page, drop in bits of art I've come up with and generally make complex a communication which could be much more simple if I only possessed even an iota of literary self-discipline. For awhile I published Syd's Journal in paper form, soliciting writing from others, printing and mailing it. That all got to be an enormous hassle so I stopped. The Web emerged and a new possibility appeared: electronic publishing in Acrobat PDF and HTML formats. This costs me nothing except time and the web site lease.

What you will find here is the best of the Syd's Journals: my favorite complete issues in Adobe Acrobat PDF format and excerpts in HTML pages. To read or download the complete PDF documents, click on VIEW/READ. To read selected articles in HTML form, select excerpts.

To bug, harass, complain, criticize, or tell me I'm the greatest literary genius since Shakespeare, send mail here.

Adobe Acrobat Reader is way-cool, free and can be downloaded here.


  Syd's Journal Volume 11

I have come to understand that the act of recording, be it the written word, image, sound or video is an important and valuable thing in itself. I have gigabytes of still pictures and I don’t regret shooting a single one. I only regret the pictures I didn’t take and the journal entries I was too busy to write. The funny thing about my mind is that I’m really pretty smart when it comes to understanding things, but my memory isn’t worth a damn. If I don’t shoot a picture, jot down a journal entry or something,
I lose it.

Topics: Singular Vision, Remembering and Recording, Dying, Mt. Carmel, Doug's Spurs, Inner Fires, I want to go moose hunting with Sarah Palin, Heaven Bends Close, Thinking about the Beats, Art, Graphics, Photography, Poetry


Syd's Journal Volume 10
Winter trees are like old hands reaching to the sky for warmth but finding none. The wind makes a chilly hiss in the branches of winter trees. Just the sound of it can give you a shiver. Winter trees, cold wind and gray skies – these things go together. Sometimes it’s too cold to stand around and study the trees. This is the time of the Winter Solstice and Christmas. This is the season when the light dies and is reborn. The long nights of this time bring lengthy hours to think and remember. At times it seems that, as the physical life subsides for a while, the spiritual life can become stronger. The northern Europeans had an old tradition of staying indoors during these winter nights because it was thought that Odin flew overhead in the dark and might curse those he saw.

  Click Here for Syd's Journal #9 - Requires Acrobat Reader
Also "Notes to my clone," "The God Bear and the Fire Witch," "Seeing Allen Ginsberg," and a bunch of other stuff that you could probably safely live your entire life without reading.
Syd's Journal Volume 9
How does a bug, even a big-ass bug, stay in the ground for seventeen years? How do they know that seventeen years have passed? Why do they all come out on the same year? Did they have a great cicada convention and all decide to go into the ground at the same time and come out seventeen years later? What do they do in the ground for seventeen years? Do they dream? Do they count the minutes for seventeen years? These things bother me.
 
Syd's Journal,
Volume 7
Syd's Journal
Volume 6
Syd's Journal
Volume 8

Samples

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There will always be a dog barking at the moon. The things that truly haunt me come back again and again, to such an extent that they no longer torture, or terrify. They are almost welcomed because they are familiar, and I’m finally calm enough to speak that most basic spell for lifting a haunting: to ask the shade what it wants. This is hard to do with a new haunting, but in time the terror wears away and you can look the old ghost square in the eye without forgetting that you’re the only thing in the room that’s still real. Finally, the dreaming begins. The inner vector does its energetic best to bring him back to life. Will his spirit catch the motion? He dreams of magma, awakes to the night-fire, the light-lush sky, moans "Father" and rolls away, creating plush and pliant fictions until day. Then the cybernetic truth of his demonic knowledge dawns: he is a political creature, a heavy. But he needs an audience, a lover, a divine mirror. For millions of years his yellowing eyes have been waiting for the magic of your smile, the mythical splendor of your otherwise chaotic karma. You are meant for each other, to remake the world in your own inner images. You, too, are finally human. Machine Gun Street,Cosmic Mother, here’s another idea for you to kill, or maybe you were waiting for me to say something, like I’m really that stupid. What will it take for you to pour the street light down like holy water on a vampire bite?

All material contained in SYD'S JOURNAL is copyrighted and can only be reproduced by permission of the authors.

VIOLATIONS OF COPYRIGHT WILL PROBABLY RESULT IN MY COMING OVER TO YOUR HOUSE VERY LATE AT NIGHT AND READING MY POETRY UNDER YOUR BEDROOM WINDOW.

1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 Syd Weedon.
All Rights Reserved