If I'm Alone Too Long I Think

I Want To Write, I Want To Sing. I Want To Do The Same Thing For Others, Have My Music, Hopefully Do That For Others One Day, Not Realizing What I Sort Of Had To Climb. I Had An Idea A Little Bit, But I Think That I Underestimated The Whole Thing.

I Live With The Things That I Love: Art, Furniture, And Objects That I Have Collected Throughout My Travels.

Anytime I Was In Memphis With My Dad And At The House, I Was Happy. That Was, Like, A Given. It Was What I Lived For. And I Still Feel The Same Excitement And Warmth.

I'm A Hypochondriac. Yesterday It Was Brain Damage From The Vodka The Night Before. Today, Heart Attack - My Arm And Chest Started Hurting At The Same Time.

People That Were In My Life For A Long Time Turned Sinister And Tried To Control Me, And All Kinds Of Weird Stuff Happened. But There Was No Conscience Involved; That Threw Me More Than Anything.