[ ]

As many of you who have been following along for the last few months have likely gathered, I'm mad.

I'm mad about everything. And with everyone.

Mostly, I'm mad that my book hasn't sold a single copy since I re-released it. I'm mad that even though all the business gurus have number and charts pointing straight at the shit that I've been spouting into the void for years, none of them believe me.

I'm mad that people watch on the sidelines without a whisper. Going back to their routines without a comment or even a "fuck you, buddy".

I'm mad that I fought my way out to find the best of myself and had to fight people to even blink when I fought my way back in.

I'm mad that I had to advertise it to get people's attention. I'm mad that even that didn't work.

I'm mad that I did all this fucking work and that something sometime is supposed to happen and I'm still living at my mom's house $40K in debt. I'm mad.

I'm mad that I haven't gotten laid in years. Or even had the energy to do so.

I'm mad that I figured out a way to have double, triple, quadruple, the life we want on this earth and that I could spend everything I have three more times and seemingly nothing would happen. I'm mad that I've done it so many times already and very little outward has happened. (Luckily, as soon as this shit pops, corporations will be throwing money at even half-way decent artists. Whether they decide to lay down or man (or woman) up will be up to them. The tough part will be staying true to themselves and hungry.)

So what kind of a love artist am I? Mad as I am. Do I really believe that love works? Do I really believe that it gets through? Do I really believe in others as I wish the fuck they'd believe in me?

Good question.

I do know one thing, though, it's not worth it. Hanging on to this elemental seed of control. Being in control. Being white. Being cool. Smarter. Being above. I'd rather be poor and happy than rich and even worried. Let alone anxious, angry, scared.

Maybe I'm still mad that when I grew up there was no one around who believed that being an artist, that doing what you cared about or wanted, was any kind of way to live. Or make a living. Or raise a family. No one who thought it was safe, or even okay. But I'm grown now. And if I don't have that belief. If I don't feel that, it's on me. (And thanks to my friend Robert for helping me put this all together).

There is a part of me that just wants love to be the new black. So I can own it. So I can kill motherfuckers with their own hate. So I can be smarter, blah, blah, blah. And if I were you I'd watch me on it as I go big. People are going to ask me to talk about shit. And most likely I will. There'll probably be some gems in there. And there'll probably be some shit.

With luck, I'll have a more pure channel than the last guy. Because I got to see what he believed. And did some more math on top of that. I have to move forward with what I know. And from where I am.

With luck I'll shut up and let my work speak for itself.

But to be a leader you've got to have a vision of what is. Tested and proven. Concrete. And all do. And those that say they don't are the most slimy.

But I don't even want to be a leader. I'm just trying to sell my book. Maybe that's the whole thing. I don't have to apply what I know to a single other person. (It sure doesn't seem to go over very well when I do). If I really believed in inspiration as more powerful than motivation, isn't that what I'd do? Go slow enough and just chill? Answer questions if they arise and otherwise do what I want? Believe?

The sun is coming in the basement window as I write this. And I'm mad at that too.

I'm just tired. I'm so tired I'm not even physically tired anymore.

I'm existentially tired. Spiritually tired.

I'm tired of feeling that I can't tell anyone that I'm tired. Or that I have no idea what's going on. Or that I'm uncertain. Even though I've never been more sure in my life. And I feel fragile and weepy sometimes. Even though I've never been more strong or more fit. That I'm tired.