Blistering scales descendingto madness and beyond.Long nights withouta melody, or aplace to hang myhat.Life hurts when thefamiliar things vanish,and love crawls away likea perfect little spider.

On this March night, there'sa beautiful Van Gogh skyhovering outside mybedroom window.Above my maple deskwhere I write this isa Van Gogh self-portrait.The jagged edges andswirls in sea-greenpain moves me.I wait for the coffee to brew.Earthy, dark notes fill the...

The dust and clutter havegathered in my home, andin my life.Next month it's April.Time to spring clean.Let's see...Throw out all thedangerous philosophiesthat whispers to mewhile I sleep.Get rid of the people wholaugh while they lie.All the soulkillers andsuckerfish; the...