I'm Doctor McMahon with a Ph.D. in sweet-ass rock with an emphasis in set list creation.

And when I got sick I felt confident that if it was the last thing I ever recorded before I left this earth, I would be really proud of it.

The present's just a pleasant interruption to the past.

This is to the world and how god damn beautiful it is.

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.

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.

With each new day it becomes more apparent to me that everything and everyone in this world is connected in some beautiful and inexplicable way, and the more I accept that, the more my world seems to come together.