This is what I’ve managed. I was trying to use my talent and the way I looked to be a voice for change in the world. But here I am. When I search for myself, I am only my own media. Quite unpopular. Quite forgotten. It’s a great accomplishment. The people who used me aren’t posting about my mistakes online. There are not hate mails. There is no mail at all. Wonderful. How much harder can I fight? How much more can I sacrifice. I don’t have anything left anyway. Nah – no grand statements. Just quiet. Just hope, making money – making my art. That’s it. If you put yourself out there and you’re not ready, they’re programmed to destroy you anyway. And now I’m forgotten. That’s quite alright. I lived in RV parks for a couple of years. I’ve lived in warehouses. I had a building, I had a job, I had a house. 2 houses. I didn’t have anyone to share it with. What more does a man have to do? It’s quite impressive really, to be so unloved. The greatest part is now, I just have to be happy. Who has a voice? Who says anything? What’s the message anyway? Today as I’m walking Rascal the message was…if we’re all connected, and my consciousness and emotional pain is part of the larger consciousness – this battle between right and wrong of the god-head, well – I served my part with my philosophy. People my age, they don’t care. And young people, they don’t know me. So, who cares. I don’t want any more pain. I failed to make a difference. It hurt so much. I had faith. But my purpose is exactly what I’ve become. Meaninglessness. I didn’t have the talent. And I got hurt for trying. That’s the program. What’s the result. The world dies. That was the fight.