Ham tobacco kitten sandwich.

My pants
do not
fit me
very well.

can you tell?
it has me walking funny,
but my jacket is long
and I try not to let on
that if undone,
both the moon and the sun
would be showing

take long strides
and hope the passer bys
do not notice
how it is bunching up around my ankles

You know it took a French man to spell it out for me. I am within stabbing distance of my dream. I am with in grasp of what I want to do with my life. This is what I want to do with my life right? I mean, I cannot think of something I would rather be doing. I want to get a degree in philosophy, but that comes after I have money and need to prove to people that I have not let it get to me.

Fear of success is the only thing holding me back now. That and I need to get five hundred pounds of kiln down some stairs. Then I can get to work and start developing some uber skills. Being naturally talented at things will only get a person so far after all, and it could be another year before I make even a dime doing this. I hope not, but planning to be magically successful seems ill.

The Unicorns are no more, but never fear the Islands are here. If you have any fondness for their former name I suggest you look into the new venture.

I have found a new place to live. I went to look at two places today, the first being very roomy and such but rather expensive and in the far south with a creepy sixty year old man. The second, and the one I will be moving into is occupied by three males aged twenty three to twenty eight. The rent is as minimal as the available space, but they got bonus points for having Settlers of Catan out on the coffee table. The wall was lined with jagermeister bottles, and I will have to find a way to fit all I own into a single room but these are things I can bare.

I am finding out that I have a strange fondness for pan flutes.

Tastes like kittens.

Going to art openings seems to be my new to do. The last one had pomegranate and try as I did, eaves dropping on as many conversations as I was able, I could not find a single socialite discussing survivor or lost. I am sure at least half of them still partook in the repugnant past time, but at least they kept it in the closet. You can stand around talking with strangers while getting drunk for three dollars a beer with out ever having to suggest a thing about the work on the wall. But if you do just make sure you are not talking to the exhibiting artist before calling it crass.

Some people have no sense of humor.

Sean