Here is an excerpt from my friend's personal writings ~NAmiXmiO ZEnLAzoG~ (M.G.)

Sitting on a foreign couch, in a foreign room, in a foreign house; with a familiar friend, one of few of my brotheron, whose friendship and companionship is more fulfilling and addicting than cocaine or injected heroin. Through my blood make it bubble and boil. It's the love and respect I have for my brotheron making my soul and body shudder; making me see clear, removing from my mind is all this clutter. Purifying my thoughts, my flesh, my spirit, for I need to prepare my solid, but fragile weak me for the wicked world, that almost killed me in the past. When my mind was full of intellect but not yet stable, where my body was a slave to pleasure and sin. Where my spirit, so weak it was easily manipulated and embraced and into the arms of evil. So naive, believed everything that was fed to me/forced-fed to me. I ran with the crowd, wore it's fashion, talked the talk, walk the board walk. And at this point when I was a phony, fixated, pathetic poser; I should have been on the concrete, an outline made of chalk. But after many heavy hits, I woke up and realized I am not a machine . Though, for a time I operated like one.