| With the Luck of a Blind Man I've seen the world through rose colored glasses (for about five minutes, I think I was two). I've seen Jack Nickelson snub my father. I've seen my mother move into the bathtub for a few months and call it depression. I've seen the truths that four in the morning can bring. I've seen a boy urinate in front of me when I was six; we were never friends again. I've seen horrors that make me weep when the Brady Bunch comes on. I've seen rodent heads left by proud cats at my front door. I've seen no wars in my lifetime. I've seen my dog get more mail than me. I've seen one of my favorite musicians play in a rat hole's bar. I've seen more blood than I have dead bodies (mostly mine). I've seen a car dealership that reminds me of home. I've seen no spies threaten to kill me for my knowledge. I've seen snow in Southern California (when my father left the sprinklers on in winter). I've seen a man with yellow eyes. I wanted to marry him. I've seen my own poetry burn (but never my fiction). I've seen a serious lack of lawn flamingos. I've seen a box of diapers hurtling towards my face. I've seen absolutely nothing when walking in on someone in the bathroom. I've seen my bathtub glow in the dark. I've seen the world's beauty in a rubber ducky. I've seen more than my share of goodbyes. I've seen proof that there is still more to see. |