Fibers in a variety of colors protrude out of my skin like mushrooms after a rainstorm. They cannot be forensically identified as animal, vegetable or mineral.

You win the lasting laurels with your laughter.

I'm a painter first, and a musician second.

You feed it all your woes, the ghostly garden grows.

I used to be monastic, almost. Now I'm like a Tibetan that has discovered hamburgers and television. I'm catching up on Americana.

You snipe so steady, you snub so snide, so rip and ready to diminish and deride.

I was young for my age. Not as naïve as they expected. I don't know why I seem to bring that out in people.