Rock 'n' Roll. Deal With It.

I Had Dreamed Of Something So Different From What Reality Was Now Offering Up, But That Dream Had Been A Blind Man's Vision. That Dream Was A Miracle. The Morning Was Fading. And I Remembered Yet Again That I Was A Tourist Here.

There’s No Use In Denying It: This Has Been A Bad Week. I’ve Started Drinking My Own Urine.

I Laugh Maniacally, Then Take A Deep Breath And Touch My Chest- Expecting A Heart To Be Thumping Quickly, Impatiently, But There's Nothing There, Not Even A Beat.

I Am Gripped By An Existential Panic.

A Child Should Never Even Think About Being A "good Son." A Parent Decides That Fate For The Child. The Parent Encourages That. Not The Child Himself. And The "perfect Dad"? I Shudder At Thinking What That May Be.