Matt is a rather sad guy. He loves to play music, but his music is so sad very few people can stand it. Criticisms have ranged from -Why so dark? To -You need some yin in that yang. Unfortunately or not, Matt's life hasn't been all that much sunshine and puppy dogs. From his dear cousin with JRA to his ongoing battle with co-dependence, from his mother's MS to his brother's murder, just about all Matt finds to be joyful about is his continued existence. And that's a questionable joy sometimes.

Admittedly, sunsets are beautiful. And the rivers between which he lives, and the forests upstate, the deserts of Arizona which he left behind and visits when he can, and the fair sex which hurts and confuses him. It is all fantastically beautiful, but it is all twisted and containing deep trouble as well. The sun gave his father skin cancer. The rivers are toxic with pollution. The forests upstate are full of a continuous life and death struggle, while only slowly recovering from DDT. The deserts of the west are desolate and full of black widows and scorpions (Matt experienced a black widow up his pant leg, but that's a different story). And women... ah, he can't even talk about it.

Perhaps a bit more (auto)biographical information would clarify. Matt's best friend in grade school climbed a power pole, blew his arm off and went a little crazy. Matt's best friend in Junior High got cancer. Then, when Matt was in High School his own dad got cancer. Next, Matt's best friend was killed in a motorcycle accident. Then things settled down for a little, as the universe prepared to teach Matt about love by tearing his heart out. Matt's marriage was strange, Matt was certainly deluded and cruel, but the way it dissolved was pinpoint perfect, potently painful karma. As Matt tried to recover, as his emotional wounds scarred over, one of his best friends since early in college, the singer one of his bands and fellow spiritual explorer, was murdered. It almost makes one want to laugh. If it weren't real... it seems so silly, so inconceivable. I know it's just life, but still! Matt moved to NYC on 1/1/1, partly to leave behind the heartbreaks of lost family and friends, partly because he had run out of things to do. He picked up his first check from the consulting firm on 1/31/1 at the WTC. Things went predictably badly for eight months, relationships foundering, souring, constantly causing him to question the values of our society and his own worth. Then came a most awful punctuation.

So forgive Matt some darkness. Forgive Matt some foolishness and cruelty. And above all, forgive Matt for writing about himself in the third person.