Every word I write publicly is subject to scrutiny, I know the deal. Some people love my work, or so I’m told, some people are indifferent, some just fucking hate it. Given the size of the lens I hang over my own writing I’m comfortable with any reaction. I have millions of words I’ve written that I’ll never share because I don’t deem them good enough or at least good enough yet. The most important aspect of writing or creating anything for me is to be proud of your work. I write what I enjoy to read, maybe that’s selfish, maybe it’s foolish, it certainly doesn’t increase the size of any cheque I receive, but if I was in this game for financial reward I’d have to be at least seven different kinds of stupid. I simply love to create, I love turning a small idea in my head into something greater, like growing a plant from a mere seed, but instead of just admiring the plant privately on my patio, I share it. Maybe my words resonate, perhaps they fall on deaf ears, but if one person finds some value in those words, I’ve achieved more than I could ever hope for. I’ve been flying high and I’ve been to the bottom of a few barrels and the one constant that has kept me afloat in the stormiest of waters has been the words in a book, the lyrics in a song, the script in a movie, whether they serve to help me escape or to reflect, I’ve found peace from the artistic expression of others and I’ve found peace within my own expression, that’s enough for me, anything else is a bonus.


Don’t know what you want

Less sure of what I’ve got

Left a dream on a table

Till it started to rot

Melted a thought I had

Turned it into gold

Didn’t realize

I was selling part of my soul

Portrait on a canvas

Made from the paint I spilled

An empty shipping container

Waits to be filled

Nothing left to give

Sent you all I had

What seems a lasting moment

Quickly becomes a fad

Tore my chest wide open

Tried to see my heart

Wrote some words in blood

But I ripped them apart

A man in a suit

Put a cheque in my hand

Told me to play a melody

More people would understand

I smashed my guitar

Sent home the choir

Took all my money

And set it on fire

Don’t want to be choreographed

No more orchestration

Shivering cold

Outside a Greyhound station

Want to go somewhere

Can’t stay the same

Trying to tell you who I am

But I’ve forgotten my name