Funny That. We Live In Islands Of

We Each Die Countless Little Deaths On Our Way To The Last. We Die Out Of Shame As Humiliation. We Perish From Despair. And, Of Course, We Die For Love.

Never Believe Your Eyes

Gather Experience... Look At What You Should Not Look At. A Feeling Of Anxiety Is The Sure And Certain Evidence That You Should Do This.

The Whole Point About Vision Is That It's Very Individual, It's Very Personal, And It Has To Be Confessional. It Has To Be Something Which Hurts - The Pulling Out Of It And Putting It On The Page Hurts. Art Can Be About The Individual Writer's Response To His Or Her Condition, And If That Response Comes Out Of A Predigested Belief About What The Audience Wants To Hear About The Writer's Condition, Then It Has No Truth, It Has No Validity. You Either Write With Your Own Blood Or Nobody's. Otherwise It's Just Ink.

Sung To The Tune Of O Christmas Tree O Woe Is Me, O Woe Is Me, I Used To Have A Hamster Tree, But It Was Eaten By A Newt, And Now I Have No Cuddly Fruit, O Woe Is Me, O Woe Is Me, I Used To Have A Hamster Tree!