C U R R E N T:
The concert that would generate him respect …
but not enough to get him signed ….
A guinea pig for modern science …
becomes a testimony for the word survival …
A time of new beginnings …
a man awaiting a larger horizon.
The sky is the limit .…
the ground inspires other artists to fly.
From America’s underground …
to an entire generation’s hindsight.
    Perhaps the most astounding revelation during this time in Crawford’s life, is that while awaiting what to do with his back, when he was at the worst of his back pain (so much so that he was using a cane, and occasionally still does), in the summer of 2006, while retreating to the Ruidoso mountains to coerce himself out of suicide (where he was once rescued from by bear as a toddler and where one of Signature’s key chapters takes place), he somehow got talked into performing just 'one single song' at the prestigious Spencer Theater in Alto, New Mexico (Ruidoso’s sister elite town); the 22 million dollar haven for performers that is the 7th largest theater in the world (even though the Aspen-like town is only 10,000 in population, then jumps to 100,000 during summer and winter vacation seasons).

            Hoping to draw a large crowd, as this would mark Crawford's first public performance in over six years since his one at the Odessa mall (though he has been casually known to stop by piano bars and play for an hour or two), Crawford made calls, rented a Tux, and made more calls, trying to get not only Rolling Stone down for the occasion, but also Anderson Cooper, Diana Sawyer, and even director Michael Bay as well; given that Crawford had already chosen to perform at 'The Spencer' ... despite the ironically-timed option to have auditiond for an ‘extra’ in Bay’s first Transformers film (ironically a Spielberg production!) which Bay was currently filming in Alamogordo, New Mexico, just minutes away from Ruidoso and Roswell, which had come to the attention of Crawford; and to have done so for Bay, would've meant Crawford breaking his prior commitments to the theater. A commiment which Crawford considered an important one, even if nothing were to become of his exclusive guest-list; as this particular benefit, was to have all of its proceeds donated to 'women of domestic abuse.' (Whether any of these guests attended or not, may never be known, since so many of notoriety often travel under aliases, but Anderson Cooper and Clive Davis are thought to have been highly aware of the program.)

            To Crawford's own shock however, soon after Crawford committed to the benefit-concert that’s proceeds would go to funding a shelter for women of domestic violence, the concert began to sell out(!), largely due to the rumor getting out online that he would be performing merely one single song.
It was later confirmed that although Crawford's one song was cleverly saved for the first song performed after the show's brief intermission following the half-way mark, he received the loudest standing ovation the theater had ever received for a local artist in its entire history that has not been surpassed.
Again, much is to be credited for word getting out via one of the internet's first major social-networks before the birth of facebook overtook it; myspace.com. 

            His performance, in spite of the almost crippling pain in his L4/5 disc, was considered near flawless, and he gruesomely endured the night without his cane, thinking that if Clive or Kevin Patrick showed, he didn’t want the cane being the only thing that might’ve gotten in the way of finally signing the 31 yr. old green-eyed multi-talented child prodigy entertainer who, by this point, had now spent an unheard of 12 years trying to get a record-deal with Clive alone, under perhaps the most astronomical circumstances that any musician has ever known.
a survivor,
to put it lightly.

            Kevin Patrick is thought to have backed away from intentions on signing Crawford, shortly after Crawford was hit by the car. It is not known where Jeff Blue stood on the matter.

            Though a 'signing' didn’t occur (and this may have had a lot to do with the area being so secluded which might’ve prevented certain parties from attending), the strong welcoming of praise by his packed-house of the native New Mexican audience, more than made up for Crawford not being able to audition for Bay's Transformers; as the struggling young musician and his ever-professional reputation for bringing 'refinement' and 'class' to the arts, had now shot his reputation throughout the underground of the entertainment industry ... literally through the roof upon his completion of the song, I Made It Through The Rain; originally a Barry Manilow 1980 hit, but one Crawford had hand picked for the benefit ... whose theme was ‘rain,’ and the hope that came out of it.

            The irony of all this, is that Crawford, himself, was at perhaps his most hopeless and most painful state ever, yet still somehow managed to pull in a sold-out crowd, by playing only one single song about the success of rising above the odds, all without most of the public ever catching on that he could barely even walk. And those who did know (such as his mother and a few selected friends and family), were brought to private tears, praying this would be the performance of his life that would finally get him signed. A local suite at a posh nearby hotel, had even been reserved by Crawford, on behalf of Davis himself, in case Davis wanted to talk business the following morning. Which, of course, never took place, much to the bafflement of Crawford. Though as usual, to avoid generating unnecessary anticipation by onlookers who then might sink in their own disappointment FOR him, he kept the nature of such dealings a secret; knowing that if he was soon signed, it would come as a welcomed surprise to those around him, but if he wasn’t, there was no need to even instill the possibility into their minds that he could be; a lesson he had learned very harshly with Spielberg.

            Though dismayed by never seeming to be capable of sufficing the labels with enough merit to propel a signing (even when pouring his entire life into it), one additional bootleg recording did manage to leak out and make its way onto the $49 demo at the time, which was another looped-in duet; this time with Jamie Bond entitled Heart Of Love that had been highly overlooked (along with the film in which it was from; another afterlife-themed favorite of Crawford’s) from the soundtrack to 1985’s The Heavenly Kid. Many versions of the $49 demo have this song excluded from its line-up, due to the lapse of time that existed between the first completed set of private recordings that would make up the demo (2002) … and this additional track (presumed to have been recorded sometime in 2005). Also overlooked, was the suggestion by Crawford himself, to supply Sony Pictures (who had just recently acquired the James Bond film franchise rights from MGM/UA at the time) with a new Bond song for the up-and-coming Bond movie that would introduce a new Bond alltogether; actor Daniel Craig in Casino Royale. Though a recording never came to fruition, Crawford does supposedly have within his massive catalog, an original Bond ballad, that has been loosely discussed for several years, ever since the release of Golden Eye in 1995 when actor Pierce Brosnan once occupied the role. This is also thought to have been the same timeframe that Spielberg, himself, finally received a copy Signature Place, and producer Paul Neesan became aware of the project while putting together a remake of Charlotte’s Web and three Smurfs movies for Paramount, with the first of the three due for release in 2009. (Later delayed until 2011.)

            Barely able to hold out any longer (much less walk!), Joshua Crawford finally underwent disc-replacement surgery in the fall of 2007, and to his own surprise, survived the procedure; proving to many, that no matter how poor the talented storyteller with the mint green eyes may have been, or how overlooked he had become to those that had the power to takes his stories to a broader audience, in the end, it does seem that he ends up working with the best of the best and can achieve some of the most awesome things, no matter how difficult the odds may be, or how unrealistic those around him once felt he and his goals were. Although the post-operative results of the surgery currently remain unclear, Crawford is said to have been finally able to start putting closure on the suicidal nightmare that had taunted him and his gregarious spirit for an entire five years, ever since first getting hit by the car in 2003 and stalling his move to Hollywood (in addition to Columbia Records’ signing of him) for a rather unprecedented half-decade. As a symbol of new beginnings, and to celebrate his victory of finally receiving the surgery, he recorded his first ever Christmas bootleg, with legendary jazz musician and A&M Records founder Herb Alpert, entitled, Let It Snow; a forgotten original instrumental from Alpert’s original 1968 album that surfaced on myspace for the 2007 Christmas season where it went viral before Crawford pulled its limited "holidays only" exclusive release. (Though it has made and appearance on this very website as a "Christmas-Day-thru-New-Year's-Only" release! So keep an ear out for it.)

            Today, Joshua Crawford, if anything, represents the definition of survival in every sense of the word, and his spectators, who have developed over the course of a now record-breaking 22 years (all for an artist who has never been mass-marketed or extensively toured the world), eagerly await the completion of his destiny in reaching a broader audience.

            Already responsible for coining the words ‘ThrillerBaby’, ‘Rewatachability,’ and ‘Retrospective Art,’ (in addition to critics bestowing the titles ‘green eyed soul’ and ‘the master of melody’ over him), he currently resides in Texas, and supposedly, is still on a shoestring budget, with many of his townsfolk, both in Texas and New Mexico, hardly aware of who he really is;
the 'Texican' man who gave a name to an entire generation of latchkey kids so that they would never be resorted to a mere letter, and brought to surface, through his pioneering novel Signautre Place, their unique struggles with life, having been himself born of the very first generation to have grasped for air amongst a skyrocketing divorce rate; making sure that they would never be forgotten or taken for granted in all of history from here on after.

            The Play Me recordings and the $49 Demo (also known as B.O.I.) have since gone on to pop up, more and more, in many rejected files of many record-labels and respectable public figures … and has continually re-surfaced beneath the cracks of the underground for other artists and historians to marvel at, who have been studying Crawford’s affect on pop culture (and its obvious affect on him!), ever since he first stepped in to Spielberg’s private office so long ago as merely a young kid who thought he’d be licking stamps for one of the world’s most renown directors … and ended up placing a stamp on his entire generation, the thriller babies, let alone, art itself, and the often lost definition of what true art really is.

            Though time will tell whether or not the industry ever chooses to promote an artist such as Crawford, his contributions to both the arts and a deeper appreciation and respect for what death and divorce can do to the world’s many children, in addition to his contributions to both science and spirituality, even if he is to never realize this in his own lifetime, remain undeniable.

            In 2007, upon discovering that author Peter S. Beagle was not receiving due royalties for the classic 1982 animated film adaptation of his book The Last Unicorn, a very beloved film by thrillerbabies throughout the world that heavily inspired the latchkey character of ‘Andy’ in Signature Place, Crawford ordered a copy of the 25th anniversary edition release of the film from the author’s website (which was the only way Beagle could obtain even a small amount of the royalty, and still currently is the ONLY way, to this day), and to Crawford’s surprise, he received a personally signed autographed version in his mailbox a few months later, with an inscription that simply said the following:

For Joshua Crawford
- Good luck with getting SIGNATURE PLACE published.
I’m so glad my story influenced YOURS about the have and often overlooked and misunderstood latchkey ThrillerBaby generation.
Let’s have lunch some time.

Peter S. Beagle.

This would make Beagle "the very first public figure to have ever used the word ThrillerBaby"; a word Crawford had invented nearly nine years earlier for a generation that he felt history would surely miscategorize … if someone didn’t shed light on their unique and unmapped self-reliant trials and tribulations, even if Crawford, himself, was to never be acknowledged for his unheard-of devotion to ever documenting an entire generation, all from his bed, over the course of six years, and with not a cent to his name while doing so, amidst an entire industry that kept telling him he was no good. Proving that perhaps, just perhaps, he had influenced even those beyond his own generation (Beagle was born in 1939), more than he could have ever believed he was capable of, and according to modern medicine, shouldn’t even be living. Michael Jackson, himself, might just be very proud.
Sadly, however, Crawford will never know if he would’ve been.
For in 2007, after his back-surgery, and after years of Amazon.com (the world’s largest online BOOK retailer) baiting Crawford to release Signature Place exclusively through them, so that the children and parents of the world could learn about the 'historically significant 1980s', Crawford began the much time-consuming task of digging out the novel from its buried graveyard of over 2,000 rejections, where he then began to write a preface-introduction for the book, as well as a massive index, featuring key words from the novel, as well as pictures of all the ‘80s iconic toys and public-figures featured in the novel. This process took over a year and a half to finish, in which Crawford did so on the early morning of June 25th, 2009; with the original plan being that Crawford would turn in for bed at around 6am that morning, and awaken later in the day, where he would have Amazon print out 3 copies of the very first PROOF tester of the book, so that Crawford could toss one in his vaults, keep one for himself to proof-read over, and send the last one ... to Jackson himself; a long overdue goal which Crawford had never taken the time to do.
Shockingly, however, the very afternoon Crawford awoke the same day in which he had completed the final touches on his 8-years-in-the-making saga that would launch the word ‘ThrillerBaby’ into the belly of the American lexicon ... he discovered nearly half a hundred voice-mails had been left on his phone while he had been sleeping. With each message declaring, in tears, to the green-eyed storyteller, one common thing:
Jackson ...
was dead.

Play Me, the most passed around music demo in history, only to have never generated a signing, and one of the first-ever mp3s ever launched onto the internet (in 1999 where it ironically gained massive notoriety in JAPAN!), years before iTunes existed, has been available from the independent-music website CdBaby.com since 2004, where it then gradually grew wings in America, and spread down and throughout many mp3 and music-downloading sites such as iTunes and Amazon, where it can still be found today …

TRUE, Crawford’s first novel in which he began authoring at 15, and concluded the day before he turned 21, remains buried in a drawer, other than its copyrighted edition with Library of Congress (Jimmy Stewart’s copy, which of course, would’ve been the only known copy that might’ve ever been read outside Spielberg’s office, remains with Crawford, even though rumor has surfaced that he may one day donate it to the Jimmy Stewart museum in Philadelphia, whom he has rallied behind for the continual demanded re-release of Stewart's classic thrillerbaby film, The Magic Of Lassie) …

and over 500 original songs (many of them ballads, including the notorious Bond song, as well as six original compositions written for Signature Place: THE MOTION PICTURE, if and when it gets translated to film) remain unrecorded in any fashion … with the exception of a partially-recorded copywritten rough-cut version of I Don’t Believe In Love, I Just Believe In God that was sent off to director Ridley Scott in the mid 1990s for a possible sequel to Blade Runner. (Lyrics of the song were briefly posted online by Warner Brothers during the much anticipated 5-disc DVD briefcase-release for the film in the winter of 2007. Other than The Library of Congress, Scott is thought to have in his custody the only other known copy to exist.)

And Signature Place ?

All copies of original ‘hand-made-by-Crawford’ editions of Signature Place are now highly collectible (particularly the original 2001 first print-run of 21 copies that featured the entire 3-part saga merged into one giant epic); as Signature Place, up until the day Jackson died, for many years, could at one time be obtained through emailing the author at the book’s official website, SignaturePlace.com, where allegedly, every copy was still hand-made, and hand-signed by Crawford himself; personalized by request. But this maneuver of acquiring the book was stopped, just hours before Jackson passed away, to make way for the book’s very first official PART 1 paperback release to Amazon, with Crawford, of course, never knowing Jackson would be dead the very day Amazon was to print the first series of PROOF copies for both Crawford and Jackson.

Having already spent a year and a half on PART 1’s massive introduction and reference-index section, Crawford had to halt everything, in order to grieve over the loss of Jackson, and the incredible eerie coincidence of Jackson dying on the very day that the book was due to go to him ... as well as gather his own conflicting thoughts on how to best go about diving back into the book, to rewrite the entire introduction and index, in order to take into consideration the now recently passed King Of Pop and godfather over Crawford’s "ThrillerBaby generation." This process has now delayed the book’s release to Amazon for over 5 years! With many concluding this massive delay, is perhaps due to the overwhelming depression Crawford was thrown into:

First, Jimmy Stewart (who died shortly after receiving Crawford’s first novel, TRUE, in which the author had written into the plot, a part for Stewart) ...

then J.F.K. Jr. (who died just months after Signature was first completed in 1999 and due to go to him, given that the LOOK-Magazine cover featuring a young JFK Jr, makes up some of the plot of Crawford's book) ...

then Chris Reeve (who died shortly after drafting Crawford a letter of endorsement for Signature to be published "for the sake of the children") ...

and now the death of all deaths;
Michael Joseph Jackson himself, whose 1982 album, Thriller, which still holds the record for “the highest selling album of all time,” in which Crawford spent 8 years naming his own latchkey generation after.

As one might imagine, many are wondering what Crawford’s take on Michael Jackson’s death might be? But Crawford, who was invited to Jackson’s funeral (the most watched LIVE television event in all of earth’s history!), has forgone speaking about Jackson to the public, yet has stated on this very website, that he will do so … in a whopping one-hundred-and-twenty-three page introduction for “PART 1” of the 3-part epic book.

As for the “index-glossary” section of the book, it was first estimated to be around 100 or so pages prior to Jackson's death, but is NOW believed to be around 300! And though the book’s initial street-date release AFTER Jackson’s death was scheduled to be released on Jackson's birthday of August 29th in 2009, then ... delayed once more when Sony announced its plans for the This Is It film that was to be compiled from Jackson’s last rehearsals for the tour he never lived to see happen, which was to be released to theaters in October of that year (2009), with yet again, another push-back delay, until August 29th of 2010, it is now currently being stated on all of Crawford’s websites (including ThrillerBaby.com and SignaturePlace.com), that the book will finally be released to Amazon, somewhere around  2015/2016.

This has both puzzled Jackson and Crawford fans, as well as upped their anticipation of this most ‘kept-under-wraps’ UPDATED special edition of Signature Place beyond belief! With Crawford issuing only a few words about Jackson, through his various social-network sites such as MySpace, shortly after Jackson’s passing, along with a banner for Crawford’s Facebook page (linked to iLike.com), featuring the official ThrillerBaby copywritten/trademarked red-inked LOGO. (This banner once could be located by clicking HERE! before the "iLike.com" website later went defunc.! Thus, this "banner" NOW makes up the top HEADER for this very website!) Though virtually nothing regarding Signature Place has been blogged or said by Crawford, himself, on either Facebook or MySpace, since Jackson's death .... nor have any ‘tweets’ been posted on the official ThrillerBaby TWITTER page ... bits of info have started be dispursed through Crawford's offical accounts on both Facebook and Twitter ... which can be obtained through the links on this website. Again ... upping the curiosity levels of many, who are 'ready and willing' for the book to finally be available to the masses, almost 21 years after Crawford began to author its very first page, back in September of 1994, at the age of 19. And the fact that most of the entire 1,000-page 3-part saga takes place in the hometown of 2 former United States Presidents (the Bushes) ... has only generated an entire new interest in the book, by an entirely new generation; one that wasn’t even born during the time in which the book was first written.

            Speculation has even arisen if the book, which also bestows a whopping 9-disc soundtrack that has been heavily ‘bootlegged’ over the years by its fans (perhaps the most pirated soundtrack of all time; as it was hand-pressed by Crawford himself, and issued only to various publishers and Hollywood executives beginning in the mid 1990s), on whether or not it will make its way onto Amazon’s electronic Kindle e-book-reader; with perhaps the soundtrack included! Totally revamping the way future generations might come to understand the 1980s all-together! And furthering the world’s current major overhauling transition from paper ... to portable! Perhaps ‘killing off’ the need for a major publisher for future authors, all together; just as mp3s uploaded to the then-new Internet helped perish the need for major record-labels for musicians, shortly after the turn of the 21st century.

Could these two possibilities make Crawford ... the most rejected artist of his own generation in which he named ... any happier? Is THIS his goal? Afterall, the Play Me demo was one of the first major works of musical art with high production-value to ever go online before there was ever an iPod; paving the way for the ‘digital-music’ revolution….

Could Signature Place going online ‘independently’ as well, SHAPE the very industry which once shunned young Crawford who had so much talent to offer?

It seems time, will only tell ... if these are Crawford’s true motives. But if they turn out to be, he truly has helped millions of other artists out there, who like himself, were once told that without a major record-label or major book-publisher, their stories ... would never reach a broader audience. And he seems to have done all of this … from a couple of hometown states … who barely know he exists!

If such a motive as this, turns out to be a ‘fully realized transition’ for all of history, then being considered ‘the Father of a generation’ … might indeed, turn out to be, a bit of an understatement. Though given the nature of Crawford’s ‘big-hearted’ modest and humble demeanor, it seems very unlikely he would ever take credit for such a large revolution as this.

            SPEAKING of that ‘big heart’ (pun intended!), in recent years, it has been uncovered that the now 40-year-old man (who was once a 14-year-old boy with a very sick heart), has (or had) inadvertently changed the medical industry’s ‘standards of law’ in what is ‘allowable’ for a minor and the minor’s parents to retain over the ‘rights’ of the minor’s life.

            Due to Crawford and his parents, in 1989, refuting the then adamant medical-advice of many world-renown cardiologists to ‘partake of a heart-transplant,’ no longer … can this currently be done, without the rights of the minor immediately being turned over to the council of the advising doctors themselves by way of law; sparking debate (when occasionally those come across this unique ‘Crawford-connection’ within the underground of the medical industry), on whether or not, this grants doctors ‘too much power’ if the minor and the minor’s parents feel indifferent to ‘life-threatening’ medical advise regarding the child’s welfare. Such laws (at least in Texas that is, where Joshua’s heart ‘medical case’ first gained notoriety in 1989) seemed to have been established coincidentally, shortly AFTER the then 14-year-old Crawford (and his divorced parents), "refused" the transplant; with their decision based heavily on the statistics at that time, that heart-transplants would only last 5-to-8 years at best, IF the transplant was even a success, and after that time allotted, ‘another transplant’ might be deemed necessary, in order to sustain life. This would’ve placed Crawford’s possible death, at roughly the age of only 19; coincidentally, the very same age in which he began authoring Signature Place. In other words, if the event in 1989 were to happen to Crawford today (if he was a modern minor), both he, and his parents, would most likely not be allowed to do what they then DID, without the ‘custody’ of Crawford being turned over to the state, on behalf of the doctors. Nor would a novel which coined a name for an entire generation, Signature Place, perhaps even EXIST! As Crawford ... might not have lived to ever WRITE it!

            It is thought to be, by those that happen to stumble on to this ‘coincidental time-span’ of established protocol within the medical industry of Texas, that Crawford … although his name has never been mentioned within the medical laws … so angered the medical industry by what he and his parents unanimously agreed on and then carried forth, that this specific ‘clause in the law’ was then later established by the medical industry, in order for such future possible decisions by minors and parents … to be prohibited. Because of this, and because as of current time (2015), Crawford has now lived a rather historic 25 years PASSED what doctors initially diagnosed him with death at … many doctors have utilized his case to either ‘make a name’ for themselves and their practices, often claiming ‘they had something to do with his now famous 1989 case of rebuttal’ … or, they are drawn TO him (particularly up-and-coming new doctors still in med-school); to learn how it ever was, and ever could be, that he defied science (and the entire cardiovascular medical-field!), and sustained life, despite the fact that his heart … once 5-times its own size … almost virtually exploded within him, due to the unknown virus which once attacked it. And with the-now-loosely-talked-about-within-the-cardio-medical-world CHEST X-RAY, such a uniqueness as Crawford’s life, has only been heightened over the past couple of decades. With PLAY ME and SIGNATURE PLACE often being Googled by both music-lovers, and book-worms, leading many … to this very website; uncovering for onlookers, the somewhat baffling history of Crawford’s heart; growing their own medical ‘fascination with him’ in the process. This ‘fascination’ with him, not only as an artist, but quite often, as an artist with a most unusual modern-miracle of a heart, has began to broaden his once low-key cult-following, in which for many years, he didn’t even know he had; as the PLAY ME recordings first began to gain a second-life (a life ONLINE!), in Japan … much to Crawford’s own unawareness, shortly after the turn of the 21st century, years after he first uploaded it to the now defunct mp3.com; one of the internet’s first-ever mp3 sites, where he then soon forgot about it, given the nature of it having already received several thousand rejections at that point, by many record-labels. With Signature Place being granted a near-parallel equaled status of the Play Me recordings, given that LIKE Play Me, it too has an almost identical backstory of having now been dubbed “the most rejected-for-publication-manuscript within the entire history of the publishing industry.”

            Crawford, himself, has declared many times, that this coincidence of having generated both “the world’s most rejected music-demo,” as well as “the world’s most rejected book,” could have never been foreseen on his end, nor did he ever want this unique status of bestowing the two ‘rejected-by-MANY’ … pieces of storytelling art. Often voicing that the exhaustion of having suffered such a large amount of rejection, on top of his pre-existing heart-condition, in addition to his later near-death pain-level due to being hit by a car, have almost killed him, and/or broken his spirit, in one way, or another.

And that’s not even including the grief-level over the sad loss of the many public figures who have died before his path could ever reach them, or before their paths … could ever reach him.

Particularly Michael Jackson’s death.

Again, those that know of Crawford, and those that are sure to COME to know him, eagerly await his thoughts on having become, even if without meaning to, “the most rejected artist of his own generation in which he coincidentally named” … but ALL will presumably have to wait … and, as they say in the industry … “buy the book!

For it now seems, even if a bit somberly, that the one-hundred-and-twenty-three-page INTRODUCTION for Signature Place PART 1, is as anticipated as the actual book’s PLOT is!

Consider this:

The world’s first generation of majorital latchkey kids and single-parents? Being governed by Michael Jackson and Ronald Reagan? All in one of the most musical decades of the entire 20th century? All taking place in the same town that spawned 2 U.S. Presidents and Joshua Crawford himself? Over the course of nearly 1,000 pages and divided into 3 parts with the most pirated soundtrack of all time? All authored on the rebound from almost inking a record-deal with the world’s most famous movie-director? The same author who has the most passed around music-DEMO on the planet? Who while authoring the book over the course of 8 years, didn’t even own a CAR? And one who just happens to have perhaps the most famous HEART within the medical industry? As well as one of the most talked-about CHEST x-rays of all time?
What more ENTERTAINMENT could the world ASK for, all in one BOOK !?! 

            As FOR that x-ray … which contains the metal cross that should’ve burned through him … it remains heavily guarded and has never been disclosed to the public.

            And as for newbie doctors, who desire to lend Crawford their services, they are welcome to contact him through this very website. Just as many FANS do.

            As for Crawford, himself, and his thoughts on the future of his generation’s healthcare, art, music, literature, film, and beholder of one very unique heart, he has finally been around long enough, and lived enough life, even beyond his own expectations it seems, to grant the composers of this website, the following stern, but enlightening, set of words:

            “I’ll always welcome any new medical minds who are willing to help shape the future of the modern medical world by using me as a defyer of science to help better mankind’s belief in the act of true faith in one’s inner self so much so, that it can ANGER the entire act of advancing human health ONE year, while actually ADVANCING it the OTHER year. As long as they don’t shake up the very foundation that led to my being able to withstand my own survival on my own terms in which so many once deemed would never work, and would thus kill me in the process. With that said, for those wonderful future medical minds out there who READ me, but never WRITE me, I think it is important for me to state that it has become more complex for me, as I’ve gotten older, and have outlived modern science’s own expectations of me, that retaining and sustaining such life-altering decisions as the ones my parents and I once made, so that I should live and not die within the time once allotted by the now antiquated doctors of yesteryears, has not been without sacrifices. I do not have a stance on a pro or con approach to transpants, because every case is so unique. And mine was, as it turned out, very unique. But that's not to say that someone else won't be every MORE unique. If I had it to do all over again, I would've done the same exact thing. And though I realize I was awfully young in the eyes of modern science to ever be contemplating such a massive decision as to whether or not to receive a transplant, that RIGHT ... should not perish from the future of the evolving world. I don't think it was just some FLUKE either. Obviously, many have professed to me, merely because I have lived so long, that my parents and I ... made the better decision.  

I have seen many doctors and nurses come and go … while at the same time, sometimes being blamed for the many that go … but never quite credited, at least not yet, for the ones that come. I have been studied, analyzed, poked, pricked, and have had my beliefs and my own personality needled … almost to the point of feeling like either a very sick and deformed animal that is the last of its kind and has been placed behind bars in a zoo for onlookers to debate over … or, feeling like I’M the one looking at the onlookers as the ones who are TRULY in the cage; with ME being the one who is looking IN on THEM as the freaks of nature, due to them never believing ... that spirituality, and science, don’t always need to be debated and explained in full, but both, can always, advance the other, even though both … don’t always need each other to do the advancing. It all depends on how optimistic … or pessimistic … I’m able to be for the day, based on the attitudes of those that surround me, and those I surround.

Having once wanted to be a motion-picture director full-time, I guess the question of which side is behind bars and in a cage … and which side ISN’T … all depends on what angle the scope of the eye of Heaven is aiming from, on any given day. To some, I am the “rogue patient” by the mere fact of my own destiny, and my personal choices to have FUSED with that destiny to the point that I don’t mind it controlling me and taking over me, and/or taking me over.

To others, I am the “MAVERICK-patient” who is setting the standard on how to broaden and bend a doctor’s once carved-in-stone ethics, and conflictions, of how to take and equate unseen FAITH … along with PROVEN SCIENCE.

But what most don’t know, unless they take the time to truly listen to my own ‘thought of logic’ that ‘works for me,’ just as much as they take the time to criticize me for refuting medical-advice … or love me so much, that they grow angry at me for refuting further experimentation in order to preserve me a little longer in case they feel I’m on the decline, and might not last another day, or another year, so that they may love me or hate me even more so … is that despite the fact that my ‘physical pain’ once, and still occasionally does, force me into a sleepless state of insomnia and a very overwhelmingly sad train-of-thought that leads me to debating whether or not my wings deserve to be clipped, I truly am … a “half-full” guy, not half-empty. And though I realize I am unique to many, often, what those very same many DON’T realize, is that because of that uniqueness … and that there is often no-one to compare me to in order to gain intelligence on how to best preserve me … I feel, and often AM, very alone. But don’t we all feel this?

Yet with me, so alone I sometimes am, even in a room full of people, and so knowing that I will always BE alone to a certain strong degree, due to no-one else being able to understand what it’s like to BE me … ‘the guy with the big heart’ who according to every rule in the playbook of life at one time, ‘should’ve died,’ but instead, ‘LIVED’ … I am often forced into reclusion, by choice, but NOT by choice to shy away from the public and deny them my presence, especially if they are fascinated with my own art and merits, but ‘by choice’ because it takes a guy like me, that has such a uniqueness, quite a bit of time, to unwind at the tail-end of my day or night, from all the analyzing that has to be done BY me, as well as done TO me, in order that I may live. Meaning that, one can’t be let out of the continual cage life’s fascination places them in, only to go home and be perfectly capable of being able to fall asleep and get a good night’s rest in order to refresh and replenish the spirit, but most importantly on THIS world, also, the FLESH.

I have lost MANY … to those that could not unwind properly and safely … often because they knew not HOW to … just as I have also LEARNED from them, in order to be better at how to do this for my own soul and self. And if they became the blueprint for me to learn, even if they did so without intention … than I … have to realize that I am to eventually become, whether I want to or not, in either a big or small way, the blueprint for others to learn, who face my same dilemma, who might come after I one day leave. But unlike many of my predecessors, the spirit within me desires strongly to NOT leave by choice or accident, but by life’s own clock. As I do not want to have to suffer the same fate of the ramifications of sleeplessness of my previous and beloved fellow colleagues, due to being on such display as a modern wonder, that I never unwind properly, and end up like those that unfortunately, never had many blueprints to guide them.

The modern medical world needs to remember, that these are often the common occurrences with those that create many pieces of art, and not just one. And it has been this way, since the dawn of time. Granted, some might not call what I do ‘art’ … but to me, what I do, and what I’m here for, always will be. And there is nothing ‘wrong’ or ‘insane’ or ‘crazy’ or ‘moody’ with being the beholder of such creativity, so much so, that it takes a while to shut down, and start once again … the very next day or night. Doctors don’t seem to realize this just yet, because they have never inadvertently become fathers to their own generations in which they named … nor have they beheld the most rejected set of merely 3 simple songs out of a larger body of 300 … nor have they written 2,000 pages worth of original wordings and teachings that form 2 epic novels … nor have they had their heart almost explode … nor have they been looked at with such odd expressions, that one is made to feel as if they are a freak of nature. That is the price I pay, and the price they don’t.

If I had a nickel for every time a doctor or a nurse looked at me the way they do, as if I don’t have the right to say a few bold things more than the average common patient, merely because science has proven that my health is not even averagely unaveraged … well, as they say, ‘I’d be a rich man.’

Only over time, have I began to grant them a little benefit of the doubt in ‘looking at me’ … or ‘walking out of the room’ on me, leaving me to mourn in silence at their own frustration with me for perhaps having a few more questions and concerns beyond just the average patient. And I have granted them this, because only over time, as time has gradually begun to catch up with my own art to the point where it might finally be received now … has my life retained life so much longer now than what it was once thought to be, that they are looking at me, and smiling, not with frustration, but with perspiration … because they are nervous to meet the man that was once considered so radical, but is now perhaps considered so revolutionary; all because his own length of life, just happened to justify his once-radical choice of decision that was initially perceived to be an acute fatal one.

Granted, in no way, do I claim to be such a revolution, but I have contemplated many nights whether or not to state such mentioned facts to the world in which I currently reside in, finally reaching the decision to only do so, if it will help somebody out there who reads me, whether they be doctor OR patient, from feeling so alone as I have felt, for being so indifferent to the ideologies of the mainstream time in which I was first brought up in, but perhaps … just perhaps … have changed a little. With much, much patience required to do so. Especially on my end.

Because of the amount of rejections of Play Me and Signature Place and the many desks that each landed on, with some desks being very well known, and others being not so very well known, yet each desk eventually reaching the other somehow, some way, I was once known as ‘the king of the underground.’ A title I never created, but it never bothered me much either. For I have often concluded … what ANY artist concludes, when they are so poor, that they can’t even afford to feed themselves, yet they continue to strive, to feed everybody ELSE, by churning out more ART, not because they WANT to, but because they can’t stop DOING it; as it is in their nature. Just as EATING is in the nature of every human who ever lived, so is the ART to the ARTIST. But when the king of the underground gets so known, that he or she starts to go mainstream, because their ART is finally becoming more known to a more broader world that just New Mexico or Texas … then one can no longer be considered ‘underground’, but rather instead ‘ON’ the ground. Or even perhaps ‘ABOVE’ the ground if their career finally starts to take off.

To the onlooking doctors of the world, who have made me and my benefactors, and even the health-care system which barely holds itself together enough to even PERMIT even MORE doctors to look at me with frustration … feel … as though I … am nothing, and they … are everything … well I think it is fair to say, and pertinent to the future of evolving medicine, that the offices of a doctor’s or GROUP of doctors … is called a ‘practice’ … for a reason. The PATIENTS are the TRUE doctors, who open up themselves very intimately and with vulnerability, in order to grant privileges TO the so-called doctors, in order to allow them to PRACTICE on the patients, so that BOTH … may be BETTER DOCTORS. Thus, it is, and forever SHOULD BE … a CONJUCTION, just as science is to spirit, and spirit is to science. NOT one … or … the other. But, BOTH. Sometimes indifferent, yes. And not always needing each other as much as they do in this physical world called earth. But still, at least here, on this planet, needing each other, in order to progress and function as a whole. At least for the time being. And not the being time.

If various individuals over the years, had not made me aware that allegedly, only 3 percent of the planet’s population have my eye color, then I don’t think I would have finally started to grant the doctors and nurses MORE than enough time to stare at me with such odd faces, as if I were ‘a deer in their ever-too-busy headlights.’

This isn’t to say that I feel my eyes are as rare as some say, and worthy of staring at, or that every doctor who visits me, stares only at them … and not at my true soul … nor do I feel I am worthy of ever being granted such a status of being looked upon as some kind of rock star. For there is much work behind the eyes, just as there is with ANY mortal, whether they have mint green eyes, or not. But it does seem God heightened the time in which either the medical field, and/or the day-to-day neighbors or occasional fans seems to stare at me even MORE than the average mortal in my OWN time, by granting me some sort of physical feature to accentuate me amongst a time in which not many seem to look LIKE me; which I presume causes me to stand out in a crowd sometimes more than I wish I did.

Don’t get me wrong, I would never want someone to carry on a conversation without looking at me … for that would break our mental connection that I feel is required by God’s beings in order that they may punctuate their sense of identity. In fact, future generations are beginning to face this problem that could forever alter the intimacy humans need in order to make progress, due to these future generations being ‘multi-taskers.’ But I say all of the above mentioned, to merely prove a point, and allow the future to learn some of my loneliness … so that they may never be as lonely. So I now say this … to any student of life that reads it:

It has been easier to be stared at for hours on end by strangers … than it has been for mere minutes or even seconds … by many so-called modern doctors.THAT … is how isolated and alone, their looks, mixed with their lacks of smiles, and lack of unseen FAITH, and sometimes overflowing amounts of pride in their own reputations and the sizes of their wallets … have made me feel.

I, and I often alone, and with no-one to help me, have fought very HARD to preserve my life as only I know it to live. NOT so much against death, but against the arrogance of doctors. Even though death and I seem to have a habit of looking each other in the face every now and then.

I hope that by the time my life on this planet draws to a close, that the doctors of the world, change the demeanor in which they deem themselves as gods … and begin to treat the patient for whom the patient truly is; their brothers … and their sisters. Their mothers … and their fathers. Their future … and their history. For if doctors were truly the only gods … than I would not be alive to write these very words. I would have died … long ago.

I realize, due to the advancement I’ve made through my own decisions in order to retain and sustain the most amount of life that I can GET out of this body, so that I can generate all the ART that I possibly can, for the time that I am allotted here … that I can be a doctor’s or nurse’s worst friend, and best enemy. But when they occasionally collaborate with the powers of faith, instead of working against it in order to disprove it … I will, and often DO, consider them more family to me … than even my own mortal family that I was bestowed to. With that said, a good nurse or doctor doesn’t always give you what you want. But a good nurse or doctor doesn’t dictate what they know you need, due to your own incomparable uniqueness EITHER. And trust me. A good nurse or doctor is hard to find. And if you DO find them, never be afraid to assert your own inner power, to make sure their heads remain with the mortals, and not with the titans.
For the only thing you’ll have to lose by NOT saying anything,
is your life.
And your chance to alter and shape the future of ANYkind for the betterment of destiny itself.

I still live by the motto that “if it ain’t broke, or causing you unbearable pain, of jeopardizing your future, then don’t try to fix it.” But might I add, “if it IS broke, and you’re at a place where you are FINANCALLY broke, then be prepared … to beg of your doctors to treat you as if you are a rich man, and remind them, that they don’t get to take their wall of diplomas into the next word … but only their true acts of devotion to spare, salvage, and save … human life … before the eyes of their almighty Creator of creators. And they should treat EVERY mortal, as if they ARE such. BECAUSE they CAN BE.

For as unique as they claim I am, we are ALL unique. No two of us are alike. Even twins. And there are others out there, who are to come after me, that will be even more unique, and they do not deserve to be treated like a rich man, NOR a poor man, but like me, and like ALL who live on this earth; they merely deserve … to be TREATED.

My advice to all, who live in the current modern world and current modern healthcare system in which we attempt to survive in, is instead of tithing … AGAIN … to your local pastor or rabbi who drives a BMW … the next time you’re at a doctor’s office, offer to pay for someone’s healthcare visit or surgery. And pick the someone whom you, and perhaps even your doctor, feel is most in need. Ask the nurses, the doctors, not for names, not for a numbers, but where your own generous wallet could best be applied in your own communities, and then lay down your cloak of security, in order to blanket your brothers and your sisters, with no questions asked, and no credit taken.
For you never know,
if the blanket you so trepidatiously share and hate to part with …

will spare the life …
of the one …
who might turn out to be …
the father or mother …
of their own generation.
Whether they have yet to be even born,
or not.
If you have to create a catchy name, in order for such a gesture to catch on enough to save lives so that progressive free will, can stay just that, progressive, then such a name matters not to me. Pick something. ANYthing. ‘The Joshua gesture’ or something silly like that, so that it might begin the healing process of the deprivation that the previous ones have set as the current popular mainstream acceptance of an always impoverished society on some level or the other. For if this, or ANY planet, were entirely wealthy on all lands, then I don’t think it would be called earth anymore.
It would be called Heaven.

And as for the fans:
Stare at your artists all you wish, but keep in mind that it is their ART … in which they desire for you to stare at most. It is their canvas, not the hand that holds the paint-brush to give life TO the canvas, that they live, and die, for. Respect their right to privacy, to preserve their small and elite race, to keep them from being an endangered species. And know, that it ain’t always easy for them to fall asleep as you so easily can. As THEY … abide by their art; whether it be in their dream that awakens them to paint, or be in their life, and requires them TO dream … in order for the gift to replenish itself, to grant even MORE art. And the more powerful and ageless the art IS, the more OTHER artists, have to be forced into being BETTER … at their own art, in order for it not to age.
A TRUE artist thinks 100 and 1,000 years passed their own lifetime, and crafts their OWN art … around that notion. A TRUE artist has themes to their work that can be enjoyed and appreciated by ALL races, colors, creeds, and ages. Not just their own.

And to all my fellow ARTISTS?
My brothers?
My sisters?
I say this:
So shall it be, that as long as the art is evolving for others not yet born,
let your art own you, in order to continually generate it.
But ALWAYS fight HARD …
to OWN your own ART.
No matter HOW much candy is laid in front of you.
But by all means, don’t dare DIE in the process.”
                                                - JOSHUA CRAWFORD

            THE  LAST   
 ... THE  VERY  DAY 
 RELEASE  OF  1984's 
            IRONICALLY,  THE  
 AUGUST  29TH,  2014. 

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