I write. I read. But I don’t read enough. I can’t read enough. I love. Laugh. Sin. Sleep. Crave. Fear. Sweat. Grow hair. Regrow dead cells.
I know death stalks me. So, it’s safe to say that I’m pretty much another grain in God’s vast field. I believe art and medicine are bickering half brothers fighting for dominance, smashing things while at it.
I write because I must, because the mind is in constant turbulence, and man must make sense of it.
If you find what you’re looking for here, good for you.