Hello. Or perhaps, goodbye? It's hard to say which greeting is more fitting for a man who has already died once.

My name is Curt Jimenez, and I am a ghost haunting the wreckage of my own life.

In 1982, on a night soaked in cheap whiskey and the fluorescent haze of Muskegon, Michigan, I murdered my best friend. Not with a knife, not with fists, but with something far more intimate: a bullet, tearing through flesh and bone, severing a bond forged in the crucible of shared laughter and dreams.

There is no poetry in what I did, no redemption in the years I spent staring at concrete walls and wrestling with the barbed wire of my guilt. Prison is a place where time bleeds into eternity, where the echoes of regret become a symphony of the damned.

But even in that abyss, a spark flickered. A spark of defiance, of a desperate need to create something pure in a world stained with blood.  It was there, in the heart of my darkness, that I discovered butter.

Yes, butter. That simple, golden substance that coats our bread and melts on our tongues, a symphony of fat and cream that most take for granted. I see it differently. I see it as a canvas, a medium for transformation.

Through the alchemy of churning milk and salt, I found a way to sculpt my pain, to churn my remorse into something tangible, something as delicate and ephemeral as life itself.

This blog is a testament to my atonement, a diary of a man who sought redemption in the most unexpected of places. I invite you to join me on this journey, if only to witness the struggle of a soul clawing its way back from the abyss.

Do not expect light here. Expect rawness. Expect darkness. Expect the churn of butter to mingle with the churn of guilt, the sweetness of cream to blend with the bitterness of regret.

I am Curt Jimenez, and my hands are stained with butter and blood. But perhaps, through these words, I can find a way to cleanse them both.

Welcome to my darkness.

Best, if such a word can even apply,

Curt Jimenez