hot air balloon disaster

I’m thrilled to just hang out in my garage and fiddle around with words. I enjoy and respect their power. Words are like, recipes for the brain… dude. duder. dudereeeno.

I spent 20 years searching for and reading every holy text, philosophy, and psychology books that I could find. I enjoyed them all so much. All those ideas were so exciting and the good stuff was hard to find. Back before the internet and giant book stores littered the horizon. You had to go to some college library or maybe you knew somebody who knew the new philosophy professor over at the U. Maybe ya put out the word in local book shops that you were looking for some Stanlislav Grof books or Ikkyu poems. I once copied an entire 200+ page Assagioli book on a copy machine At the SDSU library. It cost me over $10 at a nickel a copy. I stole all the Karl Jung books from the Minneapolis Public Library. Let me tell ya, I was one serious dude. My very life depended on it.

These days everything you need to know about my current views on life, love, and metaphysics is contained in my latest novel about a family of Satanic, drug fueled kittens, who fucking love yarn.