After 25 years of being myself, I’m still constantly surprise by how tough and how venerable I could be. At the same time. People come and go leaving crap all over in my emotional hoe to be tidied up. And I let them. Pounding so hard that I thought they might feel a little warmth themselves and return with a little heat of humanity. Every step of the way i’m excited and scared. The worst end have always been pictured before anything even started. Then I just wait for it to come true. London is fun for that, ones are constantly ready to screw or been screwed over. And now, as much as i knew the rule is to stop caring, I just hate to see that part of myself dying.