Poe

[Shadow]

What is you thought on Edgar Allen Poe personaly he is my Fav. writer I love his work what about you??
if you have a few what is your fav tale or poem by him
heres on for you
ANNABEL LEE


by Edgar Allan Poe
(1849)



It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:--
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea--
In her tomb by the side of the sea.


-- THE END --

[Shadow]

that is my fav poem by him

[MistressJennifer]

That is so beautiful...

[DharmaLion]

HEAR, HEAR!!

Edgar deserves his very own thread.

I think Goldbug is my favorite this week.

[One Eyed Cat]

haha. I'm actually wearing my ""Quoth the Raven Nevermore" t-shirt today. I have Poe's collected works. That's a great poem.


OEC

[hewhoisagod]

Have his collected works too, unfortunately I've been too busy with school this semester.

[One Eyed Cat]

My surname means Raven in Ukrainian. I love all his stories/poems, but will always be partial to:

THE RAVEN

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,


Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,


And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had tried to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore --
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain


Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door --
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; --
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,


"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " -- here I opened wide the door; ----
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,


Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" --
Merely this, and nothing more.

Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,


Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,


In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door --
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door --
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,


By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore --
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,


Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door --
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only


That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered --
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,


"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster so when Hope he would adjure --
Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure --
That sad answer, "Never -- nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,


Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing


To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer


Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite -- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Let me quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! --


Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Is there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil -- prophet still, if bird or devil!


By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore --
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting --


"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting


On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -- nevermore!



One Eyed Cat

[MistressJennifer]

Just brilliant, isn't it...

More Poe poems!!!! Let's have a Poe reading!!!

[DharmaLion]

The original CSI

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

SNIP...."The apartment was in the wildest disorder --the furniture broken and thrown about in all directions. There was only one bedstead; and from this the bed had been removed, and thrown into the middle of the floor. On a chair lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth were two or three long and thick tresses of grey human hair, also dabbled in blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller of metal d'Alger, and two bags, containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a bureau, which stood in one corner, were open, and had been, apparently, rifled, although many articles still remained in them. A small iron safe was discovered under the bed (not under the bedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had no contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of little consequence.
"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual quantity of soot being observed in the fire-place, a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the corpse of the daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; it having been thus forced up the narrow aperture for a considerable distance. The body was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived, no doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been thrust up and disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, upon the throat, dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails, as if the deceased had been throttled to death....

Complete Text

[DharmaLion]

and another for your pleasure

DIDDLING

SNIP....
Hey, diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle

SINCE the world began there have been two Jeremys. The one wrote a Jeremiad about usury, and was called Jeremy Bentham. He has been much admired by Mr. John Neal, and was a great man in a small way. The other gave name to the most important of the Exact Sciences, and was a great man in a great way- I may say, indeed, in the very greatest of ways.
Diddling- or the abstract idea conveyed by the verb to diddle- is sufficiently well understood. Yet the fact, the deed, the thing diddling, is somewhat difficult to define. We may get, however, at a tolerably distinct conception of the matter in hand, by defining- not the thing, diddling, in itself- but man, as an animal that diddles. Had Plato but hit upon this, he would have been spared the affront of the picked chicken.
Very pertinently it was demanded of Plato, why a picked chicken, which was clearly "a biped without feathers," was not, according to his own definition, a man? But I am not to be bothered by any similar query. Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man. It will take an entire hen-coop of picked chickens to get over that.
What constitutes the essence, the nare, the principle of diddling is, in fact, peculiar to the class of creatures that wear coats and pantaloons. A crow thieves; a fox cheats; a weasel outwits; a man diddles. To diddle is his destiny. "Man was made to mourn," says the poet. But not so:- he was made to diddle. This is his aim- his object- his end. And for this reason when a man's diddled we say he's "done."
Diddling, rightly considered, is a compound, of which the ingredients are minuteness, interest, perseverance, ingenuity, audacity, nonchalance, originality, impertinence, and grin.
Minuteness:- Your diddler is minute. His operations are upon a small scale. His business is retail, for cash, or approved paper at sight. Should he ever be tempted into magnificent speculation, he then, at once, loses his distinctive features, and becomes what we term "financier." This latter word conveys the diddling idea in every respect except that of magnitude. A diddler may thus be regarded as a banker in petto- a "financial operation," as a diddle at Brobdignag. The one is to the other, as Homer to "Flaccus"- as a Mastodon to a mouse- as the tail of a comet to that of a pig.
Interest:- Your diddler is guided by self-interest. He scorns to diddle for the mere sake of the diddle. He has an object in view- his pocket- and yours. He regards always the main chance. He looks to Number One. You are Number Two, and must look to yourself.
Perseverance:- Your diddler perseveres. He is not readily discouraged. Should even the banks break, he cares nothing about it. He steadily pursues his end, and


Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto.
so he never lets go of his game.

Ingenuity:- Your diddler is ingenious. He has constructiveness large. He understands plot. He invents and circumvents. Were he not Alexander he would be Diogenes. Were he not a diddler, he would be a maker of patent rat-traps or an angler for trout.
Audacity:- Your diddler is audacious.- He is a bold man. He carries the war into Africa. He conquers all by assault. He would not fear the daggers of Frey Herren. With a little more prudence Dick Turpin would have made a good diddler; with a trifle less blarney, Daniel O'Connell; with a pound or two more brains Charles the Twelfth.
Nonchalance:- Your diddler is nonchalant. He is not at all nervous. He never had any nerves. He is never seduced into a flurry. He is never put out- unless put out of doors. He is cool- cool as a cucumber. He is calm- "calm as a smile from Lady Bury." He is easy- easy as an old glove, or the damsels of ancient Baiae.
Originality:- Your diddler is original- conscientiously so. His thoughts are his own. He would scorn to employ those of another. A stale trick is his aversion. He would return a purse, I am sure, upon discovering that he had obtained it by an unoriginal diddle.
Impertinence.- Your diddler is impertinent. He swaggers. He sets his arms a-kimbo. He thrusts. his hands in his trowsers' pockets. He sneers in your face. He treads on your corns. He eats your dinner, he drinks your wine, he borrows your money, he pulls your nose, he kicks your poodle, and he kisses your wife.
Grin:- Your true diddler winds up all with a grin. But this nobody sees but himself. He grins when his daily work is done- when his allotted labors are accomplished- at night in his own closet, and altogether for his own private entertainment. He goes home. He locks his door. He divests himself of his clothes. He puts out his candle. He gets into bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this done, and your diddler grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of course. I reason a priori, and a diddle would be no diddle without a grin.....

Complete Text

[Shadow]

here is another on of my favs this one means a great deal to me its what is realA DREAM WITHIN A DREAM


by Edgar Allan Poe
(1827)



Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


-- THE END --


for Orpheus. Eurydice. Hermes. And Barbara with infinite love as I falter on the road to Ithaka . . .

[Shadow]

here is more enjoy

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD


by Edgar Allan Poe
(1827)



Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!


-- THE END --

[Shadow]

the truth can only be spoken by real people shuch as Poe.....

[Shadow]

if all could only see what is real....

A VALENTINE


by Edgar Allan Poe
(1846)



For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

[To translate the address, read the first letter of the first line in connection with the secon letter of the second line, the third letter of the third line, the fourth of the fourth, and so on to tne end. The name will thus appear.]

-- THE END --

[MistressJennifer]

if all could only see what is real....

A VALENTINE


by Edgar Allan Poe
(1846)



For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

[To translate the address, read the first letter of the first line in connection with the secon letter of the second line, the third letter of the third line, the fourth of the fourth, and so on to tne end. The name will thus appear.]

-- THE END --

Lovely... I want to hear you speak this! We must have a Blue Blood Poe Reading in Baltimore and Manhattan...

[One Eyed Cat]

A bit of gothic brutality.

THE CONQUEROR WORM.

————
BY EDGAR A. POE.
————

Lo ! 't is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years —
A mystic throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly —
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast shadowy things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo !

That motley drama — oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot !
With its Phantom chased forevermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude !
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude !
It writhes ! — it writhes ! — with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued ! Out — out are the lights — out all !
And, over each dying form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the seraphs, all haggard and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy "Man,"
Its hero the Conqueror Worm.



One Eyed Cat

[Shadow]

Lovely... I want to hear you speak this! We must have a Blue Blood Poe Reading in Baltimore and Manhattan...

you wanna hear me read that poem well we will have to arange that sometime

[One Eyed Cat]

Lovely... I want to hear you speak this! We must have a Blue Blood Poe Reading in Baltimore and Manhattan...

I can make it to Manhattan. Why Baltimore?


OEC

[DharmaLion]

I can make it to Manhattan. Why Baltimore?


OEC

Because no "Dead-Guy Poetry Reading" is complete unless is occurs over the Dead-Guy's grave.

[One Eyed Cat]

Because no "Dead-Guy Poetry Reading" is complete unless is occurs over the Dead-Guy's grave.

Damn, that's right. *smacks himself*




E.A. Poe Society of Baltimore Website.



OEC

[DharmaLion]

HERE is the link I was talking about in my previous post. If you ever get a chance to see this play, do so. Astin was excellent.

[Shadow]

Because no "Dead-Guy Poetry Reading" is complete unless is occurs over the Dead-Guy's grave.

easy there killer you dont have to understand why we have such a passion for this well as you call him a dead guys work read some then maybeyou will understand or maybe your just numb well eather way I would really like it if you didnt criticize him or any othere poet thanx... no hard feelings..
Shadow

[DharmaLion]

easy there killer you dont have to understand why we have such a passion for this well as you call him a dead guys work read some then maybeyou will understand or maybe your just numb well eather way I would really like it if you didnt criticize him or any othere poet thanx... no hard feelings..
Shadow

Uhm.

Want to maybe read the thread again?

Where is it that you think I am criticizing?

[One Eyed Cat]

HERE is the link I was talking about in my previous post. If you ever get a chance to see this play, do so. Astin was excellent.

Thanks! Bookmarked it. Hopefully, they'll come to Western PA at some point.


OEC

[MistressJennifer]

So last night I walked down Edgar Allan Poe Street. It was a perfect night, cold and clear but not windy. I love the ornate buildings of the past lighted up at night, it gives everything a sort of macabre look...

And I saw a beautiful brownstone, with elegant mouldings for SALE!! So Amelia, why don't you buy this townhouse on Edgar Allan Poe Street and use it for the Blue Blood NYC headquarters???

But wouldn't it be great to live on that street. It is right next to Riverside Drive near the Hudson River...

It's also pretty in the snow, or in the spring....

[Amelia G]

So last night I walked down Edgar Allan Poe Street. It was a perfect night, cold and clear but not windy. I love the ornate buildings of the past lighted up at night, it gives everything a sort of macabre look...

And I saw a beautiful brownstone, with elegant mouldings for SALE!! So Amelia, why don't you buy this townhouse on Edgar Allan Poe Street and use it for the Blue Blood NYC headquarters???

But wouldn't it be great to live on that street. It is right next to Riverside Drive near the Hudson River...

It's also pretty in the snow, or in the spring....

For many years, I have lived in fear of the day I decide that I have to have a place in NYC. I spent my formative years with my dad working in Manhattan and always had the notion I might end up back there some day. Everything that is the greatest about cities, is the best in NYC. Of course, everything that is the most hideous about cities is the most hideous about NYC.

[MistressJennifer]

For many years, I have lived in fear of the day I decide that I have to have a place in NYC. I spent my formative years with my dad working in Manhattan and always had the notion I might end up back there some day. Everything that is the greatest about cities, is the best in NYC. Of course, everything that is the most hideous about cities is the most hideous about NYC.

Well that's why you must have places all over the world, dalling, so that you don't get bored in just ONE place... When you get tired of Los Angeles go to NYC, then to London, New Orleans, etc....

[One Eyed Cat]

So last night I walked down Edgar Allan Poe Street. It was a perfect night, cold and clear but not windy. I love the ornate buildings of the past lighted up at night, it gives everything a sort of macabre look...

And I saw a beautiful brownstone, with elegant mouldings for SALE!! So Amelia, why don't you buy this townhouse on Edgar Allan Poe Street and use it for the Blue Blood NYC headquarters???

But wouldn't it be great to live on that street. It is right next to Riverside Drive near the Hudson River...

It's also pretty in the snow, or in the spring....

I've always wanted to buy the Lizzie Borden house in Fall River, MA. That does sound cool for a spot in NYC, tho.


OEC

[Shadow]

the poe post has come back!!!!! mwah haha

[richardpotter]

i have to admit i'm not a huge fan of edgar allan poe. i know how inovative he was, and how ahead of the times everything he did was, but i just really can't get into it.

for me at least, when i want to read short stories or poetry i tend to go towards bukowski, or denis johnson.

[One Eyed Cat]

i have to admit i'm not a huge fan of edgar allan poe. i know how inovative he was, and how ahead of the times everything he did was, but i just really can't get into it.

for me at least, when i want to read short stories or poetry i tend to go towards bukowski, or denis johnson.

Bukowski rocks. He was one of the guttiest writers ever.


OEC

[richardpotter]

yeah he has such a perfect combination of honesty and insight it's just amazing.

[MistressJennifer]

I've always wanted to buy the Lizzie Borden house in Fall River, MA. That does sound cool for a spot in NYC, tho.


OEC

Last night I walked down Edgar Allan Poe Street AGAIN! The brownstone is still for sale!! I want to live there. Wouldn't it be cool to live on Edgar Allan Poe Street. What an address to put on letters!!!

It's very desolate there, appropriately desolate.... I like to walk around Manhattan on cold winter nights. I can't wait until it snows. The first snow is so pretty. It snowed a bit a couple of days ago, but it did not stay.

[One Eyed Cat]

Last night I walked down Edgar Allan Poe Street AGAIN! The brownstone is still for sale!! I want to live there. Wouldn't it be cool to live on Edgar Allan Poe Street. What an address to put on letters!!!

That would be cool. If my travels bring me to NYC someday ....

It's very desolate there, appropriately desolate.... I like to walk around Manhattan on cold winter nights. I can't wait until it snows. The first snow is so pretty. It snowed a bit a couple of days ago, but it did not stay.

Damn Jen, you are really a romantic at heart Did you go to Coit Tower in SF much? That'd be a great place to get some photos snapped.

OEC

[MistressJennifer]

Damn Jen, you are really a romantic at heart Did you go to Coit Tower in SF much? That'd be a great place to get some photos snapped.

OEC

I used to walk around Mount Tamalpais, believe it or not!! I used to walk down "Steep Ravine Trail" every day.... Really beautiful place. But so isolated.

[One Eyed Cat]

Really? I went to Mount Tam a few times and hiking in Muir Woods. You'd love Northern Cali I think. Mountains and pristine forests. Very peaceful.

OEC