December 4, 2001
I divorced my first wife who had far lesson pain

While washing my hands, I looked into the eyes of the man staring back… an old man whose long hair foolishly plays with the imagination. For it’s his mask to hide behind—view the eyes, see my soul… it’s no longer the kid I once was. I felt sorry for him—he hasn’t captured too many dreams. He has a lack of confidence, or passion to remain loyal to his being, and or weaknesses. The old man looked back at me… I quickly turned, and returned to the air. My radio show continued. The pain radio has brought me sits in the hollow darkness of my soul. No path leads to it, no sun ray can attain its array of mystery. You’d never know by listening to the show, but the true self is severely injured. I guaranteed him that I wouldn’t sell my soul again… but I did. A dream isn’t supposed to reach forever—they’re escapades, fantasized bewilderments, tingles to a darkened soul. Until you wake up, and realize someone is waiting—they want proof of existence, leap, or be devoured…swim, or change everything.