I just read a very well-written essay and a very poorly written blog post . The latter is about me, or probably more accurately, a parody of me, while the first is a supremely articulate essay concerning how every artistically inclined person has felt during some time or another. In this dark cave blanketed by shame and uncertainty, I fine myself constantly. Where financial gains and business savvy fail to deliver that boost to the ever-limping ego, the arts can always be counted on to give a weakened heart a steady jolt. But the intangible feeling of artistic triumph is comparable to a lunar eclipse, it is seldom seen and flashing in it's longevity. So a sincere heap of gratitude is extended to you, sir. For, although you may at times see the same starving artist that your mother does peering back at you from the mirror, you are nothing short of encouragement to those at the foothills to the mountains you've climbed.
peace, love and cornbread,
*If it weren't for this picture I would have never known you were gay.