My father forced me to write until my early years in high school. It wasn't until he saw me sitting for hours at the kitchen table writing rap music, or spending hours writing reports that would seal that "A" that he let me go free. His work was done. I began to pick up momentum. I still write...proudly he watches me. I now watch my son wake up every morning with a smile on his face. My wife wakes up next to me. My life, my family, my love. My influences?...I'm still here and so are they. 

Soon To Be Released... Dispositions of an Insomniac Writer

Mind of a Mad Black Man
The Beginning of the effort. An attempt to remain consistent and focused while having a day job. Random thoughts...