I can’t write poetry. I’ve tried to write it, but my efforts have always been terrible.
I can’t write music. I love music and I’m deeply moved by its magic — both words and lyrics — but I have no talent for writing songs.
I tried to write poetry and music when I was young. I even have a few samples of my attempts at verse. They’re awful but even through the awfulness of the bad art, I can feel the anguish of what I was trying to express when my pen wrote the words on paper.
For most of my life, I’ve felt a deep sense of longing. A sense of need. A panic. A fear. An emptiness that craved filling.
When I feel that — as I desperately do tonight — I feel an incredible urge to express it. My heart feels as though it’s going to explode in my chest. There’s so much I want to say — to express, to feel, to confess — and words aren’t ever enough.

The Alien Observer: Craving predictability in a world gone mad
We often live in the tension between known and unknown
Truth beyond physical world is hard for a skeptical man to see
Widow: ‘Things that mattered yesterday do not matter today’
I’m more afraid of sanctimonious smart people than of stupid people
Jobs are created from ‘selfish’ acts; they don’t just exist on their own
Police shut down dealer in the never-ending ‘War on Lemonade’
Politicians trying to stamp out innovation to help monopolies
Homeless honor student thrown into jail for missing too much school