The experiences on the page are mine. Or from the personae of mine. I know rock bottom like I know the sun still tries us. It’s a wonder I’m still here. I write about that. It’s not for everyone – it’s edgy, abstract, and at times unsettling. Good hell, it’s even absurd. But all of us do have a rough go sooner or later, some harder than others, and come to terms with it in our own way. Writing to me confronts that darkness, explores its depths, exorcises its daemons, demands its meanings – often luminous, and records it subjectively. If people stumble upon my work and it challenges, provokes, or allows them to feel something on some level, or better, attunes them to something inside themselves they may not have considered, I have done a service and art continues to have its place in the world from one tiny facet of consciousness. And in consequence giving back what has given so much. Yet ultimately, it’s for myself; catharsis – to hone craft, channel passion, shed insight and cope with the human condition, one of profound vulgarity, but also one containing true instances of promise. Only in darkness is there a capacity for light, and as such reveals the nature of my intent.