I know anyone who's reading this is probably looking for an update on the trip, well you'll all just have to hold off until I get back when I promise I'll write a nice long journal highlighting the hilarity of this trip.

However, this story will not be amongst them.

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I couldn't sleep (jet lag and a busy mind) so I went to the lobby of my hotel and began working on some drawings and as I did a young lady (FRENCH!) sat beside me and began writing as well. As I kept working I heard from beside me

"Are those yours?" (Imagine a soft French accent)

And I turned to see her staring down at my little black book (yes, I actually have a little black book) in which 2 pages I had written some one line poetic verses was open.

Embarrassed, I replied "Uhm... kind of... they're just things I write down that sound interesting at the time otherwise I tend to forget them."

"And the art work," she indicated at both my little black book and my sketch book "are they all yours as well?"

Again, I could feel my face beaming red I replied "Yes, unfortunately, I know they suck but I'm just practicing. Got to get good some how!"

"Do you have anymore?"

"Sorry?"

"Do you have anymore of these short poems"

"Just what's in the book" I replied very confused

"May I read them"

"Uhhh... well... I don't know... see... well... ok. But just warning you, they suck and I'm not a poet, just a creative guy who like the bringing together of words"

"Well, do you know what the definition of a poet is?"

"Uhh, no not really"

"A creative guy who likes the bringing together of words."

That shut me up

So she read the few I had in there and well, my "writings" are only one line long so I couldn't understand why it took her over 15 minutes to read them. After she finished she put my book down, took my hands and looked me dead in the eyes (I was, of course, scared shitless).

"What is your name my dear" she said in a calm and almost loving tone

"Corey, yours?"

"Amelie (I loved that movie!). I am a student at the University of Paris. Poetry is what I've been studying the past 7 years and for someone who claims not to be a poet, you do seem to capture a lot in a single sentence."

I think this'll be the 4th time in my life I've been physically incapable of speaking.

"I would like you to do me a favor" She asked pulling out some paper and a pen from her Arabic themed side bag

I had no other choice to to go along with this at this point in time.

"I want you to write a longer poem. I don't care how you do it, just write something about anything but I want to get a better idea of your writing and maybe help you realize your potential."

"OK"

Shit

So, with pen in hand and paper at the ready, I just stared. For like 10 minutes with nothing coming to mind.

"Sorry, I just have no idea. Like I said, I suck"

"No no no, shut up" She said, shaking her head "Just concentrate and remember, artists draw on there greatest triumphs and greatest failures for inspirations. There ups and downs, dark and light, life and death."

I looked at the page.

I looked at the pen.

I wrote.

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I dreamed a dream and you were there
When I opened my eyes and saw the sun you were there
You were there when I decided to run
When I fell, you picked me up
When you died, I helped you rise

Then I awoke to look up to you
From six feet below I saw dirt, sky and you
You were dressed like a priest
When I tried to move, you kept hiding behind your bible
When I died, you took off your robe

You grabbed the shovel
You grabbed the dirt
And with all haste
You buried me before I had a chance to say a word

Dead men can't talk

Then I slept, but was wide awake
And I stood on my own two feet and both of you were there
One was dressed as devil and on was as saint
You pulled both sides of me until
I went with you to heaven
and I went with you to hell
and I stayed here

Now I am with you, I am with you and I am without you waiting for
Me, me and me

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I handed over the paper to Amelie and she read it. I have never been this embarrassed in my life. I hate writing poetry and I suck at it, but this university major who has been studying poetry was now reading every inch of the paper.

This now took 30 minutes of silence.

At then end, she smiled.

"So what's the damage. I should stick to drawing eh?"

She shook her head "Non."

"What?!"

She opened a book and stuck the sheet I had written on inside it and sealed it shut with a velvet string. Putting the book back in her bag and getting up she pulled out a card from the side pocket of her bag and handed it to me.

"I expect to see you here Friday night at 8:30" She said letting go of the card.

"What is this?" I asked studying the card as if it was suppose to turn into a transformer or something

"It's a back door access to a poetry house. We have an entire courtyard in Marrie booked for people to come and listen. And since I am the talent scout (she used some odd word I can't remember so I'll just use talent scout) I would like you to come. I shall hold this hostage and wait for your to come."

And with that she started heading towards the exit of the building, so me being me I did the stupidest thing possibly. I yelled at her in English in a French hotel.

"Wait," I shouted "I'm not here on Friday!"

Then she turned, walked right back to my face and with that angelic glow again she replied.

"Then I guess I will be waiting for some time then, no? I think perhaps you should evaluate where you think your weaknesses are again mousier Corey."

And with that, she left me stunned again and walked out with my poem and with me holding a card to a poetry slam I'll never go to.










OH SHIT! I'VE GOT TO BE UP IN 6 HOURS!!!

BYE!!