The CriDicks

If not for the pride of production, what does one work towards? When so many things seem to be foul and backwards; when men fight in the name of peace, and preach in the name of enlightenment, and kill in the name of life-- what should I be expected to do? Should I be expected to write my music for anybody other than myself? Should I be expected to consider the critics? …When critics write to make a wraith the words of others? When they complain that we’ve nothing to work towards but their grace, and nothing but misery to be our reward? When they strike at an ego as if it’s light alone threatens their darkness, what should we do? We the workers, the writers, the right...

Yes, I am proud, and my ego is huge and healthy, not by any fault, but because I know that what’s right is right. When did society decide that "ego" is a dirty word, that self-esteem is a dirty thing? ...I create, and I share, singing from as true a place as I can find, because I know that I am good. Should I dedicate my life to something other than that one thing I believe myself to do best? No, I shouldn’t...

So critics, all of you, whether working by blog or by big mouth: if you would like to see it done differently, then go do it. Never will any of you find a way to steal greatness from those around you. Like everything else we seek, it must be earned.

To Be Alive At 6:00AM

A new day is beginning

And still I can’t sleep

Because the hours I keep

Are in fact keeping me

And the thoughts that I meet

In the deep end of night

Are like air being breathed

Mystic keepers of life

Oh, these thoughts never stop

And they run on their own

Without food, without rest

Roaming Thoughts, come back home

Roaming Thoughts, don’t you know

Someday, too, you will die

Rotting Flesh, answer they,

When we do, rest your eyes.