The punishment one bears by being aware of the world is enough to make a man mad. We want to know of the world, be wise to it's ecstasy and sorrows alike. Until it tears down, and try to take the things that we love the most. I can't answer for the rest of the world, but for me it is my people. I used to think I understood why my Grandmother climbed up into the hills of the Wind River Canyon to play the harmonica to the people she loved in the past. Now she is one of the slowly growing number of sorrows in my own life. I have come to realize more than ever that life is not for the weak of heart. It's not if life kicks you in the face, but when. Spit the taste of the blood and shoe onto the asphalt, swallow the rest, and fein a smile till you got a real one.

Time and fucking space? Is that where my family and homies are going? Maybe with every drink, smoke, pill, we are willingly shaving a little time. Without being out right selfish, this shit is hard, but don't forget sometimes it is so soft and warm. Sometimes your soul touches the world and changes the course of time. Are you willing to give up your spot. Those who you love and they love you, would they want you to give up and join them sooner, or must you endure and remember to relish in the beauty along the way.