Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

That is why, my dear, I am not insane but merely a genius.

No two of my canvases will resemble each other,

As I am a talented man of well-rounded abilities

Painting music, composing poems, and singing in color.

I carefully collect each shade of crimson and ultramarine and ochre

To recreate portraits of skin and blood and trees and air, pumping through a web

Of eternal creativity begging to be released by only my hand; the hand that feeds.

I build my own instruments of leather and wood, breathing in the soft wind of legacy

In my palms, in the notes of this page, in the music to be sung forever.

I have created a life of art for my infinite audience and

I have committed no crimes.

Allowing the world to kill me off has become my sin;

Through the fog, you will never find anyone else

As crazy as me.