I was an independent kid, skating to school with a vial of LSD in my pocket. I liked to take it before I arrived. To say I was long ill-qualified to live in my mind would be fair. In the Star Wars universe I would have certainly been a Jedi (Young Anakin or Rey), if not Force-sensitive; I’ve always lived one foot in the unconscious, as many artists do.
As an adult, I’m drawn to the shamanic – to what’s beneath the surface, to where the real journey happens, inside.
Today, at thirty-three, it’s my ninth year writing here. What began in Seattle went to Milwaukee, then to LA, then to San Diego, and finally, now, to the mountains, a few hours outside LA, where I’m writing this.
It’s me and my books, in the last house against the forest. It’s a quiet life, but I like the solitude. After a few long relationships I’m now in a relationship of masculine and feminine, in myself, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to continue unfolding what’s in store for me as an individual. Like Walt Disney, I have a sense of my own destiny. And, after everything I’ve been through, I know I owe it to myself to follow it.
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