So, inspired by my last "Melodramatic Diary" entry, I went into the attic in search of memorabilia and notebooks from my Jim Morrison phase. Jim Morrison died when I was two, and I fell into his spell when I was 16. And I wrote some fantastically horrible poetry as a result.
Alas, I haven't found it yet. But I did find this t-shirt I decorated with a Sharpie for art class that year. Note the "He Lives."
I got a C. I never could do shadowing. Or Jim Morrison, apparently. :)
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1 comment:
i am jim morrison's slave!! i had his love child after i chased him down in san fran, he just wasn't fast enough. well, i mean, he couldn't RUN fast enough. come on, baby, light my fire!!
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