Associations, halls of fame, Halls of Crap, Halls Suck. When we first we're propelled into the wild blue of songwriting, all we felt was the wind beneath us and the big yonder out there to play in with melody and verse...In art, there are those who work in automatic fever pitch for ten billion years, others who dabble, and most who talk a good game. The desire for Recognition seems to be an aphrodisiac.."PLEASE LOVE ME,..BUY MY WARES,.I'AM GREAT TOO,.I WANT MY PICTURE IN THE MUSEAM OF MODERN BOOGIE BOO,.I'M A CUTE PERSON,.I CAN PLAY THE PICCOLO",.C'mon pilgrims,.just write something real , honest, and true,..if you can do this, and do a little work to get it out there, the universe will present something,..something will happen,.but you gotta do a little hustling and a little leg work...Screw the "Hall of Monkey Scat",. just make great art,.love the process,.be a faithful stuart of the muse,.forget glory dreams and bimbo delusional confetti..rising to the top might mean being faithful to the bottom;.The master works might very well be scuttling around down there in the caverns of the holy Goof,.top or bottom means nothing,.what matters is "Can you live with yourself by churning out garbage in order to make a mad dash to the top",..the top of what ??? all that work to get there, and you find out your stranded in PIN HEAD ALLEY.