My City,

It's valentine's day,  or at least I think it is.  I have felt a little lonely.  Not that I have any desire to have a significant other right now.  I am happy to be on my own.  My first long term serious relationship was just about nine years ago,  and I've only been on my own for a few months.  Which doesn't really count,  I was clearly broken hearted.  So the loneliness is actually quite nice.  I'm that kid that could go any where,  pick up and hit the  road at a moments notice.  Of course I already did that.  Here I am, sitting in a coffee shop in P-town.  My list of friends I could count on my fingers,  half of them are roommates,  The other half work frequently,  or just have enough of their own life that I don't see them that often.  Which is good,  I don't want to party,  I want to draw and write.  In six months I'm sure I will meet and befriend a number of people,  and I will miss this time,  when the city was mine.  I lived here ten years ago for one year.  I have lived here again for a little more then a month.  Of course it is much more some one elses' city then mine.  But when you spend your days o your own.  Ordering a cup of tea being the most you talk outside of the house.  When you feel like the lady selling the homeless newspaper is your friend 'cause she says hello two days in a row.  And when you walk blocks and blocks,  that turn into tens of blocks and then a hundred and some...  well into the night.  When those numerous streets exist both beneath your feet and in the passages of your mind,  then in your singular experience,  it is your city.  There is no one to tell you otherwise.  I should choose my friends carefully,  for I am living in a state of bliss,  if only I could recognize it.  It may be that my synapses cannot adjust very quickly to what my rational mind knows is the best for me.  Eugene was the exact opposite.  It was like living on the set of cheers.  Every moment was an invitation,  "c'mon let's hang out."  Which I am glad I had.  Being a kid who has traveled allot sometimes I thought I would never have good friends I could get stoned and watch TV with,  I felt I would always be an outsider.  My brother always told me success was a lie.  The minute you achieved it you had in essence failed.  I don't know how much I took his words to heart.  He was a philosopher at the age of seven,  and had dedicated himself to writing by eight.  So he started working me over at an early age,  being two years older.  But I don't believe that.  I believe in the purity of motivations.  I think secretly Gabe craves success,  and because of that,  If he achieved it,  it could very well be his down fall.  And he protects himself by sabotaging himself,  and maintaining a state of constant penance,  like a monk afraid of his god.  What does this matter and why have i been distracted from my original theme.  I was just wondering that myself.  Let us conclude by saying,  here in this city I claim as my own,  I believe I may face my success.  It's not in the cards yet,  or in my skills to draw a story,  but it is brewing.  And I believe if you pray to and honor your art form every day,  then you will be respected as an artist,  offered a chance to continue your commitment,  and eventually one day honored yourself.  And then success doesn't even matter,  we've got stories to tell!!       
         Happy valentine's day my love,  I promise to spend more time with you.  More time rendering your characters,  more time plotting your stories,  more time paneling and laying out.  More time with me,  because you are the stories inside of me,  and we will walk this earth together.

                             Yours Truly,  the creator