In defense of myself: I have always lived here, among these dreams and hopes... fully possesed by the loves and fears of an overly romantic heart given to a nature of passions. I know of no other way of living, no other way of Being.
)An Artist is one who cannot naturally accept established ideas of Being, and so Art is the way their Identity is uncovered, the means by which the Self
realizes and proclaims: I Am.I write because I must breathe, because for me Writing is the hell and salvation through which Things speak... The explorations of my own heart as it lives and feels, dies and is reborn, that is what I am put here to know.....I have entertained no childish notions of immortality; I have always known I would die. But, I have never known the degree to which I would be able to
Love so selflessly and that has always been my greatest fear... and my greatest hope.As a Man I can only dream under the stars, but as an Artist I can wander, dance, love, speak and grieve among them.....................
In all honesty-- In vino, Veritas.I WOULD LIKE TO MEET...
poets, writers, musicians, artists, storytellers, vagabonds, hobos, your alcoholic uncle, fireflies, lightening bugs, the devil at midnight, wicked-smile blessed angels, the rogues of downtown bars and country highways under star speckled nights, wine drinkers and heart-stealers......
