You can't get there from here.

For the likes of you$$$ the path to happiness is one mean son of a bitch of a path.

Given my heritage and the ordeal of my childhood$$$ I sometimes wonder why I myself am not insane. Maybe I am.

Imagine a plague you catch through your ears.

Good writing excites me$$$ and makes life worth living.

My heart beats as much as I can breathe.

You only need to be generous with what you have.

I know not my own heart if it be not absolutely free.

My optimism wears heavy boots and is loud.

Stand and face me$$$ my love$$$ and scatter the grace in your eyes.