A word is worth a thousand pictures, a contrary view, in this book I did accrue. I withdrew from the life that promised value, I’ll speak till my breath robs my eyes of its hue. In search for answers that you already knew, you are alone; we stand together, culture of one your heart weighs more than a feather.

Beat your head against my words, scrape that mental plaque, wander from the herd. Chemistry is a dancing flight of tulips glistening dewy light. We are alone together, cut the chord, release the tether. You’re looking for a home, a shell, a belly, a cocoon… a jail made of bone, your mind dancing on a black tar spoon. Bleach the sky, stain the morrow, hide the moon, blind your shadow. Follow me, to yourself, I’m your dynasty, you’re my wealth. You’re so alone, you have no reflection, you are transparent, I see your heart’s pale complexion. This book will make your mind’s eye blink. Come with me; it’s safe, I think. Inspiration is a tantric drink. I’ll whisper to you through the ink. You are addicted to achieving the impossible.

Jesus has a sister. The Muse. The Muse is inspiration. The Muse is the result of a compromise made between God and Satan to save Jesus’ life (by design). I met the Muse. I almost died. Twice. She gave me brain damage. I want to return the favour. My mythology documents my journey into perdition.