No man is brave that has never walked a hundred miles. If you want to know the truth of who you are, walk until not a person knows your name. Travel is the great leveler,...

Am I making something worth while?I’m not sure.I write and I sing and I hear words from time to time about my life and choices making ways, into other lives, other hearts,but am I making...

I want to burn with excitement or anger and bleed, bleed out my words. I want to get all fucked up and write raw and ugly about all these things I see and am and...

All I wanted was to live a life where I could be me, and be okay with that. I had no need for material possessions, money or even close friends with me on my journey....

All that old road of the past unreeling dizzily as if the cup of life had been overturned and everything gone mad. My eyes ached in nightmare day (235).

At night in this part of the West the stars, as I had seen them in Wyoming, were as big as Roman Candles and as lonely as the Prince who’s lost his ancestral home and...

I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.

…and I realized no matter what you do it’s bound to be a waste of time in the end so you might as well go mad.

Fuck Kerouac; he would write his own story.

The open road. Seemingly my only friend for years upon end since leaving war. The road embraced me, let me breathe, and more importantly, did not judge me.

Well, at least this is what I told myself every day as I fell asleep with the fire still burning and the moon shining high up in the sky and my head spinning comforting from...

Like seasonless fowl we migrate…from East Coast to West Coastand back and forth again,for a job,for a friend,for a change,for a kick.

Maybe I can learn to live in a way that makes it worth writing about, and maybe I can actually become something more than this empty shell.