If It Works, It's Out Of Date.

I'm A Phallus In Pigtails, And There's Blood On My Nose, And My Tissue Is Rotting Where The Rats Chew My Bones. And My Eye Sockets Empty, See Nothing But Pain, I Keep Having This Brainstorm About Twelve Times A Day.

I Think The First Experience Scared The Hell Out Of Me. Within Months Of My Initial Marriage [on Angela Bowie], I Realized I Had Done A Really Naive And Rather Stupid Thing. . . . I Don't Think Either Of Us Had Any Real Resolve About Being Together. The Result Was It Made Me Wary Of Relationships.

I Think The First Song I Ever Wrote ... Was Called "can't Help Thinking About Me." That's An Illuminating Little Piece, Isn't It?

It's Almost A Social Grace To Get Into The Art World, And I'm Very Wary Of It. Art Was Good In Berlin In The Late '70s - There Was A Lot More Guts To Art When The Neo-expressionists Were Starting Up; It Was Real Slapdash; It Has Real Heart To It - But It Seems So Cold And Heartless In America. It's A Buyer's Market.

When I'm Stuck For A Closing To A Lyric, I Will Drag Out My Last Resort: Overwhelming Illogic.