A isolated country boy. You where born into desolation. Into nothingness. Into a simple and dirty lonely life. Nothingness. It has always been around you. Nothingness, its what the ghosts of the native americans scream in the breeze. Its no wander you dream and smoke weed. What else is there but nothingness. You pick up a H. P. Lovecraft book like a bible and you read deep into the night while puffing the green leaf to ash in your pipe.
