Read these words written by a man who had decided on decadence and an early death. A man who marked his time with daily dope binges, the draining of bottles, and the empty arms of harlots of every size and shade. Such excursions he considered valuable experience in an impervious world, made and fashioned by ancient, hereditary hands with as much intent as the autumn leaves that slowly fall in small circles.
This man began as just a boy, polished and enamoured with possibilities. A simple beginning betwixt avocado appliances and padded feet of Pooh pajamas- an existence bound in description as blue collar, wage earning, lower middle class. But, what weight could those words bear on the shoulders of a child wrapped in the celebrated simplicity of Saturday morning cartoons and cereal?