It's November.

It's a month where, if you're feeling brave, you'll try and write your novel or something grand, something amazing.

It's a month where, for some, you are at your artistic peak.

It's a month where friendship, love, life in general just swoops in around you to make you feel warm, loved even.

It's a month where we celebrate our so called bonding with Native American's only to wound them, destroy them, try our damnedest to eradicate them on that fateful Thursday toward the end of this beautiful month.

It is also the day of my birthday. November 24th of all days. The day I was born into a world that I want to reject with every passing second. For, you see, my birthday is always in competition with Thanksgiving. We used to celebrate my birthday on Thanksgiving instead of the actual day. And my gifts? They never came or they came too late. A mix of Christmas and birthday gifts sometimes greeted me because people would wait that long.

Then my birthday just stopped coming... and I would count the years, remember the way I was a year older every November 24th while family was oblivious.

And I find it difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed and passed over, as quoted by Maynard from A Perfect Circle.

Last year it was different. We celebrated it a day early, I believe, or was it a day late? Just off by one day. Sure I had been upset that day, only to have friends of the family show up as if to remind me I had someone who cared.

And this year? Will this year be a repeat? Or will it be different? Will the cake proudly reveal the Puerto Rican flag as it has the past two years? Will my girlfriend join me this year? Maybe we'll have Japanese, go to Umi in Hendersonville, or Asaka, Twin Dragons even? Or will we eat Puerto Rican meals?

Shall we go to a movie or sit at home and watch all the classics, the horror, the thriller and psychological movies I love with all my heart and being?

Or... are all these high hopes for not?

Whatever.

Back to Silent Hill influenced artwork.