There was a moment in West Texas in 1976 — a boy alone in a field at night, looking up at a sky so full of stars it felt like a message. He did not yet have the language for what he was feeling. He would spend the next several decades finding it.
The path was not clean. There were years of drinking, years of running, five marriages before the age of thirty-four. He got sober in 1989. He stopped smoking in 1991. He moved to Seattle in 2000 and found something that had been waiting for him there — a relationship now in its twenty-sixth year. The longest steady thing in a life full of motion.
He founded the South Carolina Survivors Group. He built a tarot deck from scratch — every card image drawn from his own vision of the ancient archetypal symbols, created using MidJourney and Photoshop. He opened a recording studio that publishes music made with artificial intelligence. He photographs the world the way he wishes he had seen it as a child — with clarity, and without fear.
These are not separate projects. They are the same project. Every door below leads to the same room.