After some other stuff in which I learned to cry and hide I discovered that I could drum. I mean drum. Two sticks, skin on a cylinder, and I swear nature in me made music right there.

I would drum everywhere. Everything is a drum. People heard. Things moved on. I played drums with other people. We made music together. Damn. Crowds and joy.

I drummed this one time. I remember their voices. Loud, screams and cheers and clapping hands only where I allowed. I swear I was...

Sometimes I know that my addiction is great and poetic. Sometimes I know that I am worthy of song.

Sometimes I think that all these so-called legendary abusers have been over-hyped. Sometimes I know I could have them, right here, right now.

Sometimes I have the notion that in death I will fall into popular legend as a great drunk who was beyond saving. Sometimes I like this idea very much.

Sometimes I have the idea that if I succeed in something that...

Resisting emotionally agile responses.

Hate filled and bitter I slough through the stinking meres of what ought to be.

I recognise the necessary adjustments. And turn, turn away, wishing for elusive change.

"Well, the sun shines bright somewhere, always, on this good Earth, and I know for damn sure sometimes it's shined on me."

This is the beginning of a Dolly Parton song that neither she nor anyone else never wrote, but we're all grateful for some things. For instance, the hair-pull-lift, the motorbike ashtray and the easy elevation of drunk, homeless bums to sobre, fulfilling participants in society are some of the things we're all very glad that have never come to be....