I’ve got this nice silver bell; I’ve had it since I was 12. I first used it to play “Itsy Bitsy Spider” in the solitude of my room with a type of frenzy and yearning only made possible by the discovery of jazz after divorce. My young lungs and chubby fingers were eager to serenade the phantoms of a 7th grader’s delusions and the gods of pop jazz. I imagine the neighbors sitting at the dinner table wondering if they still had a mice problem from the squeaks of my labor. Now I struggle to breathe, to take a proper deep breath. I can barely play “Single Petal of a Rose” without leaning on the side of my piano, gasping at Heaven’s door. What I’m trying to say is that I’m anxious as hell, a little worried, and I wonder what this bell tolls for anymore. I made this personal blog to help keep me writing through the funks, or maybe these funks are just fluoride. Or an undigested crumb of Wawa mustard chip, a fragment of an underdone tuna sandwich. Here, you can find some of my poorly executed ambient saxophone music, fiction, non-fiction, and other scribbles. I currently reside and survive in Tampa, Florida.