There Are No Artists.

Maybe the constant struggle to silence those voices is more desirable, more attainable than trying to fill the hole that otherwise would exist. Or perhaps I think too much.

I Once Wore Self-Pity Well.

Sure, that mod army jacket looked BITCHIN’ way back when, but I was no longer that person. Now it would make me look an embittered Vietnam Veteran. Those old ideas were not only ill fitting, but they were an insult to what I had become

A Boy Needs A Throne

Daily, I would get on my bike and ride through streets filled with ghosts and invisible houses, on past where the tarmac turned to dust and would find myself in fields of stone.

On Being A Dick.

As a forty year old single parent who has had, if not Motley Crue levels of interactions with the opposite sex then at the very least, John Denver levels I wondered if I had anything to offer to the world which might enrich or assist another’s travels...

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