I’ve been watching you up close and personal for some time now, Sig. You know, scoping out the inside your noggin. I see too much confusion. To many doubts. All trivial stuff. Gawd, drinking binges were more fun. Waking up in the back seat of cop car trying to figure out what was bleeding and why was sure as hell more entertaining. Come on, Bro. Get on the stick. You already know the answers. Don’t shake your head, ‘cause you do. Knock it off. Stop treading lightly. Stomp it out. Walk unfamiliar streets. Explore dark alleyways. Sniff the danger. Damn, what a beautiful aroma it has. Forget your dad. He was as narrow minded as the box he stuffed you in. What the hell did he know anyway? Not you, for sure. Your mom didn’t either. Doesn’t matter. Their ashes are scattered in the wind. I see you sometimes look in the mirror and wonder about the sorry sod looking back. Wonder who the hell he is. That’s you, Bro. You’re looking at a skull filled with kimchi. A spicy dish that bites the tongue, and if it’s really good, causes snot to run out your nose. It’s delicious. Nutritious. Full of vim & vigor, just like you. Yeah, that spongy stuff inside your skull is percolating. Near boiling. Let it steam, Bro. Come on. Blow your top. Shoot darts outta your eyes. Listen to more punk. Play your air guitar. Make it blast. Wake the neighbors. Get radical. It’s your time to shine. You don’t need anybody’s permission. Dig in. Go to work. Bend words to your will. Shape them the way a sculptor shapes marble. Chisel away at them till you find their hidden secrets. It’s all up to you. Nobody claims your time. Nothing stands between you and those squiggles. Let it rip. Do your Iron Butterfly In A Gadda Da Vida drum solo on the keyboard and see how quick the words pile up. Put your sparrow fart existence behind. Sometimes you just gotta say-What the fuck. I got an eye on you, Bro. My expectations are high. Stratospheric. Don’t let me down, hear?