August, The Summer's Last Messenger Of Misery,

If You're Crazy Enough To Put Your Hat Into The Ring Of Speculation And Punditry, You're Going To Get Some Turbulence. But If It's Coming From Some Journalist With A Comfortable Degree Of Body Fat, I'm Not Losing Any Sleep Over It.

All My Big Heroes Are Literary, Writers. I'd Love To Meet Jimmy Hendrix Or John Coltrane, But I'd Much Rather Meet Thomas Wolfe, Or F. Scott Fitzgerald. Words And Books Have Always Meant A Lot To Me. That Someone Can Take Words And String Them Together To Where They Will Move Me Is Just A Hell Of A Thing. It's Amazing To Me; More Amazing To Me Than Music Or Painting. It's Always Been The Written Word Or The Spoken Word, Like A Great Lecture Or A Great Lyric, Or A Great Poem. To Me It's Just Amazing. And I Always Aspire Toward Capturing That, Or My Version Of It.

I'm So Burned Out, The Only Person I Can Stand Is Myself. I'm The Only One I Would Put Through This. Wheels And Wings, The Ride Is Everything. I'm All I've Got. I'm All I Can Take. Another Day Has Destroyed A Part Of Me. So Far So Good.

As You Do With Any Band You're In, You Get To Know Everyone Too Well All Too Soon. When You're Crammed Into A Small Space, Proximity Leads To Familiarity.

I Am Talking About Ultimate Deceit. I Am Talking About Unparalleled Treachery. Bottomless Lies. Depths That Are Seen That Are Previously Unimaginable. Darkness And Shattering Despair That Could Break Bones. Paranoia And Horror That Could Stop The Heart Cold. All Inflicted On One's Self By One's Self. The Soul Turns Schizophrenic And Goes Hopelessly Insane.