I LOVE ALL of Maxwell’s interviews! This is definitely my #1 pick!!

M is undeniably as BRILLANT as he is CHARISMATIC! Possessing an AUTHENTICITY, HUMILITY and PROFESSIONALISM, extremely rare in an industry congested with excessive ego’s.

“Maxwell has mastered the “TRUE RICHES” (i.e., the secret nourishment from heaven) without allowing the music industry or life itself to confine, control and/or consume him.”

Truly a “KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR!”

P.S. I am so-ooo happy I didn’t miss this!
LOVE to LMN and special THANKS to
Pete Lewis!

I think Maxwell may have to move permanently to Europe Its for the best

Thanks Chantay for posting!

@Nicole

Ahh, “The Saddest Poem”, I love Pablo Neruda. I think we are all hopeful romantics.

A little smuthin, smuthin, from “Sonata”:

I want to be, my love, now that the tears are
thrown into the raucous baskets where they accumulate,

I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable
of mangled silver, alone with a tip
of your breast of snow.

DAMN, Pablo.

From – Twenty Poems of Love

I can write the saddest lines tonight.

Write for example: ‘The night is fractured
and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’

The night wind turns in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like these I held her in my arms.
I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.

I can write the saddest lines tonight.
To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.

Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.

What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.
The night is fractured and she is not with me.

That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
my soul is not content to have lost her.

As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
My heart looks for her: she is not with me

The same night whitens, in the same branches.
We, from that time, we are not the same.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.

Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.
Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.

Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
my soul is not content to have lost her.

Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,
and these are the last lines I will write for her.

Pablo Neruda

*yes, I’m a hopeFULL romantic* LOL