Suddenly it makes sense again. In no haze of mindfulness, staring down at this snow-covered quilt of America, I am the stars exploding. Voice shot down to hell, half sick, half recovered, alive and well and ready. The unknown for now will remain as such and in this moment that feeling is not one of suspension. It is the hopeful unknown. Reaching into the future could only be good now as the past is wrapping itself in ribbons and pleasant packing paper, rarely to be revisited.

I consider myself a person like everyone else, and I take my time writing my records because I feel like it captures more of who I am. You have a much greater chance of hitting on themes and points...that could play into someone else's life in a larger way.

It's easy to love the snow because at the end of every snowstorm it's as if the world has started over. There is no dirt, no footprints, just a layer of seamless, indiscriminate nature connecting everything to everything else. Isn't that the amazing thing about the natural world? You can tear it down, you can drill holes in it, you can ignore its power with all your might, but one morning you wake up and it has selflessly given despite all of our abuse. I think I'll make a snowman.

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.

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.

I've found that falling doesn't always leave you fallen for.

If I've learned anything over the past 5 years, it's that you do not know where you're going to be tomorrow. You have to make decisions based on that; it's almost pointless. So, you know, whether I learned, I think I'm pretty aware, pretty conscious of that point to live in the moment. It's a hard lesson, but it's like, I'm trying to learn to quiet my mind down, know what I mean?