My confession.

I honestly wish that, in 1998, I had never read a copy of NEXT magazine--and, instead, accomplished something else with my life other than go public with poetry. Most of the truly decent people I met along the way are either deceased or have moved to other parts of the U.S. And others are shining examples of "conditional love." I feel like I've lost at least two to three years from my lifespan due to not realizing how to properly cope with the differing values (aesthetic and otherwise) of others without feeling stressed and upset. I'm truly sorry to have ever believed, once I started going to Midnight Special [Bookstore in Santa Monica] and attending the workshop, that I might have some value or something to contribute artistically to part of the community. And I'm ashamed of my naivete in thinking that the openness/acceptance of Midnight Special was something I'd find just about everywhere else.