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The earliest digital rendering I have of myself, not a happy fella, sitting on the front stoop of the new house that my family moved into in the then northern suburbs of Jackson, Mississippi. I look at this tightly knit face, the furrowed brow, and wonder what weight of what world or karma I was carrying within that five-year old visage. A precursor, perhaps, of the melancholic disposition I have always had, coupled with the spiritual hole-in-the-soul aspect of the three-fold disease of alcoholism, I have blessed to have survived and been in recovery from since October of 1972.