THEY SAY all stories break down into three acts. And if a life is nothing more than a good story, mine looks like this:

Act 1, I start to get crazy.

Act 2, I get crazier.

Act 3, craziest of all.

I say this to prepare you. If I sound like I was outlandish or out of control, well, I was. Sometimes I could see my own craziness. Sometimes I couldn’t. Sometimes I used it to get my way. Sometimes it used me to destroy my world.

In telling this wild tale, I’ve tried to stay true to my state of mind at the time. I’m not interested in detailing a tedious history of the music industry and its various executives, but rather in tracing my own journey, following the bizarre twists of a life turned reckless.

You’ll see how my inability to pull punches only added to that recklessness. If my inner wolf was howling, I let him howl—no matter whom I might offend.

So I’m going back.

I’m reliving the past the only way I can.

As I write this today, I believe I’ve been restored to sanity.

But in restoring my memories, I’m staying in the moment, crazy as the moment might seem.