These jarring juxtapositions of reality—sainthood/atrocity, filthiness/beauty, disorder/structure—exist not so we can turn to one side or the other, but to look at their magical connecting joint, see how both can exist at once, and be flooded with beatific sublimation.

The negativity of society would have us be moths—flapping from lamp to lamp, dousing each light with our gray, mechanical wings.  But that’s not the natural design:  Look up in the sky—we are meant to be stars; gathering around each other, forming galaxies that burn all the brighter for our unity, while still glowing with…

IMHO, the crazy press of life is a tool not meant to torture us, but to drive us to stretch our spiritual limits and become infinitely sane, and ultimately, to see something massive and good underneath all of it.

At the core of our exchanges of sound and light is the clash/intertwining of philosophies, so it behooves the creative individual to sharpen their grasp of the central drives of humanity, and in so doing create a psychic imaginarium replete with marvels, tools, and yes, even weapons.

In the grand scope of time, we have come so far in such a short while, but we have so much farther to go. Press on, with delirious abandon.

The wounds that life gives you are meant to be transmuted into glorious actions and transcendent works of art.  Don’t let the roughness of that ore fool you; there are gems inside.

Balance isn’t some solid path that we walk, but a tightrope we run across.  As long as we are humble enough to be sensitive to its sways and pitches, it will keep us from falling.