Sweet Virginia, Meet Strange-ling; Mining the Mind and State of an Artist & Muse
I was born a poor, colorful German child during times of war and tree-hugging. I was among thousands of pill pushers, freedom bell-ringers and confused looking family members. It was just after two o’clock in the afternoon that my mother finally let me out of her womb, which I considered to be my own personal room for close to nine months.  Just like every other ordinary day around two in the afternoon, the sun was in the sky. The only difference was that I was being born. And that meant that the world was about to change. Well, for me anyways. And I guess a whole lot of others too. But, don't get me wrong, I'm not going to try and claim that I'm any more special than the boy born next to me. People are born and die all the time and I know that I am no different. It's hard to paint a picture more honest than that, but I will attempt to. My mother and I were both beet red. We looked as though we were both just picked out of a vegetable farm. Everything seems to change so fast as if to compare our lifespans to a constant shift like how the Earth rotates around the Sun. But that was something that took me thirty years to realize.

It was the first day of Spring and I was the new "Spring Baby" of the family. People who meet me now sometimes draw conclusions that I'm this lost and delusional, Midwestern/East Coast cross breed. I may be a bit out of touch, but I'm still human as far as I know, which means that I'm at least not a cauliflower. However, my mother and I could have been pretty convincing as a set of red faced tomatoes. But at least she had the beautiful red hair to compliment it. I had nothing but a little curly Q that stood straight up off my head. Full memoir is not available, download your copy today.

Gar Rogala is following