"Write about what you know, " they say.

Well, let's see. I know about rocket scientists and rhythm & blues bands. I know about bikers and bartenders. I know about tequila. About Mad Dog 20/20 and Thunderbird. I know about waking up face-down in the flower bed. I know about ditches deep and wide where a girl has to crawl out by herself, without any help. I know about prisons - prisons of the mind, of the body, of the spirit. And I know about curb-sitting.

I know about cats and dogs and squirrels and 'possums. I know about spiders and snakes and the way an armadillo looks when he's split in half by a .3030 slug. I know about hurricanes. I know about floods and fire ants and how it sucks to love a no-good man. I know about searching. I know about desire and pain and transcendence. And suffering. I know a lot about suffering.

I know about synchronicity. I know about magick spells and the language of the stars and the depths of the psyche. I know about change. About the fear of change. And about the inevitability of it, too. I know about the human condition. I also know about waiting. I wrote a treatise once on state-of-the-art methods.

I know about joy. I know about laughter. I know about love and friendship and jumping off cliffs. I know about fog. I moved in the fog one time ... rented the house in the fog, transported my belongings in the fog, and lived in the fog for two solid months. One day the fog cleared and to my amazement, there was life all around me! Until that day, the town of San Leon had consisted of one tiny brick house, a fence and a broken gate, peeping out of a cloud.

I know about crying. I know about guilt. I know about finding oneself at the expense of others. And I know about letting go. I know about letters written and letters received, about Dutch winters and honky-tonk sound checks. I know how to set up and tear down. I know about last call.

I know about favorite sons and disparate daughters ...

And I know that I know nothing.