There are old pictures. Our last dog. Our old place. It seems like years ago. It was not. It was earlier this year. We have switched time zones. We have new jobs. We have new desires. I have started calling myself a musician. I have started writing new songs. The new album already is starting to feel old. It is not old. I thought we would never finish it. Because I have never finished anything. But we finished it. & it is not old. It is new. It took 45 years to make. I grew up in Fresno, Ca. I was arrested there. I was fired there. I was evicted there. I moved in & out of my parents house. I barricaded myself in my room. I locked myself in the closet & I climbed out through the window. I smoked in abandoned houses. Checked in to the London Motel. I moved to Sacramento. Lived on 10th St. Slept @ the bar @ Old Ironsides. Drank Newcastle on tap. Slept on the sidewalk at the foot of my stairs. Threw  my phonograph out of the second story window.  Worked in a bookstore. Worked in a restaurant. Met Kid Durango & Cleats. Drove around in the fog. Smoked cigarette after cigarette. Had a dream where I walked alone on Business 80 to the sound of horns. Moved back to Fresno. Moved to San Diego. Went to University. Almost became a professor. Wrote a bad play. Wrote some songs & some poems. Almost died. Dropped out of University. Worked in a grocery store. Met Melanie. Met Spike. Got married. Moved  to Woodstock, NY. Everything is always does.