I was myself; i.e. only the usual...

You have really nice eyes.

 Christmas.  I showed up at my mom's house.

waiting for the miracle-- L. Cohen

 Grammas taught me me how to cook, or at least a friend's gramma did.  And maybe my step father too: scrambled eggs, I would say.  mom's mom taught me French Toast, I think.  But my 'adopted' gramma definitely taught me how to make tomato sauce, meatballs and lasagna.  I'm pretty sure Ethan showed me how to make bread, whereas his mom taught me how to make icing for cake.  The kitchen witch's cook book came in handy, and some random cook book did the trick too.

I was born in the year of the Tiger.  That's good because I have a strong affinity for cats.  The other night I dreamt about lion cubs, I actually became one of them briefly.  This guy held a gun to my face at point blank range and pulled the trigger.  The cartridge was empty, so I turned tail and ran.  I felt compelled to run all fours.  That wasn't going to work out to well for me, so I stuck to the standard two feet method.  But my pursuer was gaining ground.  That's when I attempted this tumbling manuever, going down head over heels, that wasn't working because I apparently wasn't doing it right.  So then I watched that lion cubs "tuck and roll" so I found myself as one of them.... I wasn't doing any better, but I got away.  It all started back at this crash pad I was squatting in.  Someone had broken in and began stealing my things, the day before I planned to move out.  I tried to stop him, but he had friends which led to me running and being persued until the gun was in my face.

Ashley Simpson.  because I got arrested for public intoxication just when she came on.  And it was my birthday celebration.

An English teacher, poet, novelist, illustrator, wizard, Emperor-Uber-Alles, and free spirited mad man/prohet.

You see, it wasn't really my 23rd birthday, I was just saying it was.  I wanted a big birthday party so my friend and I made up fliers and passed them out at random.  Not many of the invites even came, but the few that did brought lots of people with them.  My birthday is on the longest day of the year, so its genereally hot with good weather, so I planned on a barbecue.  So everyone whose going to come is there and the sky is grey.  Before the grill is even started, the rain comes and it is a torrential down pour  with no end in sight.  My friend, however, is determined and immediately sets about on a huge project.  He makes a make-shift roof in front of the apartment door using wooden sticks that went to something or other and a mat of cardboard I covered in duct tape for an abandoned project many months ago.  The kept up and the roofing was a complete success, thus saving that part of the birthday.

 Who do I begin with?  A mystery unfolds in my atempts at poetry.  
Dear Ashleigh, I fear I will never see you again.  Even if I did, would you be happy to see me?  You can not know how much I miss you, nor the regret I feel for the way we parted.  You were the best to me.  At best, I can say that I am falling to far apart from everyone.  Everywhere.  I've always been sad.  People laugh AT me, not With me.  The Jackal, you once said.  The Jackal, I am to understand is a Trickster, and accustomed to laughing at others.  Teaching them too, apparently.  I've begun work on that story, putting it down and all.  I dedicate it to you.

--Forever in love, the incredible Mr. Nobody.
 

I don't know about this HTML business, I never know what's going on. read the Bartimaeus Trilogy. I learned about it from my Teaching Young Adult Lit instructor and it is fabulous.  I mean, it works out well enough so far: listening to people I mean.  Its getting one's self to read that can be the challenge....

I am generally hot when others are not. I melt like I'm made of water. When inspired I can draw like many wish they could, I know my lines and my colours. I can write to no end, and with little effort, but some necessarily, it is even decent in its accomplishment. I care. Nobody cares. But like everyone else, my caring is selfish to a pointless end. I've wanted to be dead since I was ten, but never attempted it. In my teen angst, I decided to do it or not to do it. The struggle is resounding, but I live on. I've lost the meaning of carpe diem. I've been talking about Sweeney Todd for years and nobody knew what the hell I was talking about. Not only will they all now know, I used to look like Johny Depp back in my twenties-- without trying or caring. I used to work at a convenience store and was always referred to as Gilbert Grape.

 MOSTLY HARMLESS.

    Not much, but I did race home from work,  After almost hitting an unmarked cop suv and getting away with it after a short threatening chat from him, I got home and changed.  I put on my best all black suit complete with vest and tie, and looking nothing less than prepared for a funeral* I went bar hopping with my vampire friend.  I looked for a bar called Gillian's, failed, because I found the bar Julian's and it probably is the sme place by a different pronunciation.  Met an unfriendly stranger, passed up Dorothy, and don't know why, then ended the night dancing with a girl who I will never see again, but would have liked too.  I said I was dressed as Joe Black, and why not? 
   
(*You're all going to die one day, I was just dressed for it.)