The mad cactus on my desk continues to sneer as I peer across the imaginable universe atop my white-walled chamber. There, above, I try to plagiarize the letters arranging them like constellation of stars beside a headless Orion. In between frustration and lack of sleep, I stare unblinkingly on a white screen waiting for it to swallow me whole and deliver me to a tea party hosted by the Mad Hatter. There, perhaps, I could be the Queen’s new favorite or maybe the merciful White Rabbit could lead me to a whole new magical world where twenty pound plates smell like cotton candy and where militia men wear puffy pantaloon with printed rainbows and little hearts.
I could tell you who I am, but that is to say who I am right now for it rapidly changes as fast as that lamplighter could say “good morning” then “good evening”the Prince visited in some strange planet. Writing “about me” is tad easier. So I’ll tell you instead about a guy who at the age of twenty three is still a virgin, who’s a self proclaimed artist and a rebel in search of his mountains. I’ll tell you about choco-love, about sugar free oatmeal cookies, about the benefits of caffeine and nicotine and the occasional visit of this pompous man named Gastritis. This is about me being happy, about randomly playing piano on music stores despite the stern looking manager, about singing on moving buses and about this partially color blind boy in continuous hunt for the real color of love.