Edith Piaf Knocked My Socks Off When

I Used To Be Monastic, Almost. Now I'm Like A Tibetan That Has Discovered Hamburgers And Television. I'm Catching Up On Americana.

I Was Young For My Age. Not As Naïve As They Expected. I Don't Know Why I Seem To Bring That Out In People.

Elusive Dreams And Vague Desires Fanned To Fiery Needs By Deadly Deeds Of Falling Empires.

There Was This Mountain Village In Russia Where My Music Was Getting In On Some German Radio Station. I Remember This Because Music Used To Get Up To Saskatchewan From Texas. Late At Night After The Local Station Closed Down.

That's One Thing That's Always, Like, Been A Difference Between, Like, The Performing Arts, And Being A Painter, You Know. A Painter Does A Painting, And He Paints It, And That's It, You Know. He Has The Joy Of Creating It, It Hangs On A Wall, And Somebody Buys It, And Maybe Somebody Buys It Again, Or Maybe Nobody Buys It And It Sits Up In A Loft Somewhere Until He Dies. But He Never, You Know, Nobody Ever, Nobody Ever Said To Van Gogh, 'paint A Starry Night Again, Man!' You Know? He Painted It And That Was It.