I wrote this about a dream I had a couple months ago.

Thieves and diamonds. Wood piles scattered in bits like BBQ pork. satan quietly observing moments of sheer chaos, bending to his agenda of filth. We all romance the blackness of life. We must to appreciate anything. We need a bar to measure our happiness against the hollowness of loss and tragedy. Surely this gains us our own brand of perspective. Take comfort in the separation. Find a way to unify the contrast to a shade of brilliant triumph. Make is song your name.