I wish they made enough good drugs to reward the blood and brain matter I have splattered over these pages, countless stages, celluloid, vinyl, acetate, and compact disc. The fuel that propels me is more likely to be a grotesque imbalance of testosterone and estrogen polluted by multiple dioxins conveniently dumped in the Love Canal near Niagara Falls by the Hooker Chemical and Plastics Corporation for decades before my birth in Upstate New York. It takes a master alchemist to create a functional stability between the contamination of genetic mutation, environmental hazards, moral pollution, hormonal imbalance, and toxic emotions from which I struggle. My daily existence is a battlecade of extreme fluctuations where chaos clobbers apathy which beats the shit out of depression which follows irritability which slams into anger which eclipses ecstasy which slips through my fingers far too often. I’m still searching for the drug that can trigger the switch which will allow euphoria its rightful position as a top contender in the war of my emotions.
