“Perception is the paintbrush. The reality, the canvas. You are the artist. Create purposefully.”

Lies feel like nails on a chalk board scraping down the marror of my spine and truth feels like harmonious melodies gifted from the hands of the divine.

I compare myself to the leaves; dead, yet dancing in the breeze. Is it meant to hurt this much, falling from the trees?

Have faith in the fall. Sometimes life knocks us down so that we can discover what resides at the bottom of it all.

He dirtied my name with his dark and muddy lies. The earth he left grew flowers for the butterflies & now I thrive.

Truth as my armour. My sword as my pen. I’ll do what I will to prevail again. Shining so brightly so they shot me down. Did they not know how hard I would bounce?

I think I may be in way over my head. I’ll learn how to breathe underwater instead.

I have a habit of seeing through the cloak that they wear to hide what truly resides in their soul. I have a habit of tearing out skeletons from the blackest of closets; although it’s never the goal. I have a habit of forcing others to look in the mirror, at the darkest parts of their soul. And I no longer want to play the role.

I think we all long for someone we can be disgustingly honest with, and for them to love us anyway, and stay.

So what do we say to each other is the language of unspoken? The words are sweet; the space is bitter or is this just the them I’ve chosen.

Be aware of the judgments that you and others conjure. The words reflect the inner world; the doctrines that you sponsor.

Our interpretations reflect our imperfections. We will always read between the lines, but we decide what we choose to find.

Only after you have fallen to the pits of despair, can you fly to the horizon of hope.

I survived because the fire I have inside me burns brighter than the fire that surrounds me forever thriving with blazing vitality.

Sobriety is something I’ll never reach. There’s always another day, another urge to defeat.

How do we trust others when we can’t even trust ourselves?

Trust is an illusion. A systematically flawed word. A total forgery of a statement. Trust assumes infallibility – without errors, mistakes, or fuck ups.

Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.

The great artist is the simplifier.

What makes a song last is real content from a mind that is thinking a little bit harder about certain things. A lot of artists don’t really think that hard.

If you are born an artist, you have no choice but to fight to stay an artist.

When art critics get together they talk about Form and Structure and Meaning. When artists get together they talk about where you can buy cheap turpentine.

In every photographer there was a painter, a true artist, awaiting expression.

I do not seek. I find.

In an artist’s life, death is perhaps not the most difficult thing.