I am lucky. I did not choose this life. It chose me. It's strange like that; not picking my path, but rather easing into the water and letting it carry me where it will. Yes, there will be nights where I feel like my destiny is at my fingertips and there will be nights I wish the lights were off and I could just make these sounds in the dark. Still, I will always be there, wherever there might be, staring into blackness hoping the blackness stares back at me.

For a moment there I convinced myself I had my back against a wall, and suddenly the only wall I find my back against is that of a 10 by 10 writing shack in Glendale, where the summer days average between 90 and 100 and each song can be quantified in the sweat it took to write it. There is no ac in hell, and sometimes you've got to get down to get up. The train is gaining speed I should think.

I have a really hard time connecting to music that doesn't feel like I'm somehow solving a puzzle that applies to my life.

People in the hospital ... call me the wellest man on the ward. That's what's going to sustain me. I have these energy reserves that I somehow can't seem to deplete.

But planes land and so do I, and suns rise, melting away the grounds cool protection. I am finally free, if only for this moment. And should that be the case, then know that I am throwing a parade in first class as I speak. Art has again saved my life, my love and me. What next? Who really cares? Certainly a toast will be in order. Make mine a double.

I think human beings make life beautiful. There's a lot of beauty in everything. I think what makes life beautiful is the ability to acknowledge that.

You don't have to push or pull or fight or win, the struggle is illusory. Sometimes or rather, all times, you just have to be.