It was a conscious decision, while reading Henry Miller's somewhat obscure book called The Time Of The Assassins and then getting into Rimbaud's Illuminations, it was a decision to write from my unconscious, and Hermitically as well. It was a difficult time when I first started on these writings, but I'm glad I wrote it down because the past vanishes practically into the vast blue nowhere, time is such a sneaky weasel. Its been a heck of a ride. Gradually though I become less introverted and the poems I think, their content and form, become more and more public, almost a kind of journalism, away from the freaky trapped scared and half nutshell crazed. Also around the time I started writing these poems I was catching my first real and protracted study of philosophy, in particular Nietzsche's The Birth of Tragedy. And technically as well as the ideas astounded me, really, and it really felt great to be able to read and then write, hoping to run parallel with philosophy and whatnot. This then, these precarious poems where walking the plank is for real, is..my attempt to climb out of my self, the ole mind-cage of lonesome fears, the shadowland, and enter in into the now of the implacable hub of no perspective but that of now. If there is a message to these poems its probably just in the inherent fact that one exists, lives, delves under and to, the very heart where mind and soul dance that eternity dance of one any how, way, and who.