August 15, 2001
Please God…let me be me

A Bic pen sits gripped within the jaws of the artist self—a deep thought is dug from the canal leading from a closed off section labeled the soul. Be it me, thy neighbor, this self you are within—let him jell into the actor he is. I’ve spent an entire career trying to be a clean cut guy… only to learn, I never found the edge. If I could do it all over again, I’d can the Keep Smiling image, and live up to the long haired freak I am. I’ve hidden my abilities, which have done nothing, but invite thoughts from others who exclaim, “I had no idea that you had this strength to be a performer.” We don’t pee an entire days worth of water, it’s released in long drawn out battles with a toilet that I’d rather puke in. I’ve never felt a need to prove my true self, the choice has been to run and hide—giving anyone the chance to shape me, and then within a sliver of shadows… the entire dream wraps itself around a loose wire and the talent dances.