Finally!

Five years of impulsive traveling and half way thought through plans and I still can not make sense of myself. Over these years I have lived with an almost psychotic urgency. A drive to surround myself in the madness of the world. To immerse myself in the love of the damned and fill my nights with the cries of the living dead.

These nights have been filled with passions that I still do not fully understand, a kind of love of the world that is bitter and melancholy. With each new home I stagger into I find new families whose love and kindness has allowed me to live a life of reckless abandon and pure emotion. I came to this realization while visiting Minnesota on a very recent trip.

After selling a handful of CDs and scrapping together what little money I had, two dear friends and I set off with the intention of setting the world on fire. We were going to bury ourselves in each other and what friends we had in the Twin Cities.

The specific events of the evening are of little importance. What is important is that once again I found myself in a space of complete escape, all that mattered was that the night belonged to me, it belonged to those who wanted to live with their hearts and their passions. Running through the freezing streets of Minneapolis I finally forgave the world for its failures. I forgave the world for slapping me and dragging me kicking and screaming through its hostility and destruction. I forgave the world for revealing its darkest secrets. I forgave its treachery its paranoia its vulnerability and its lust. I forgave it because I finally fell in love with it.