The World News Might Not Be Therapeutic.

I'd Rather Be A Lightning Rod Than A Seismograph.

A Sound Of Cornered-animal Fear And Hate And Surrender And Defiance . . . Like The Last Sound The Treed And Shot And Falling Animal Makes As The Dogs Get Him, When He Finally Doesn't Care About Anything But Himself And His Dying.

What Do You Think You Are, For Chrissake, Crazy Or Somethin'? Well You're Not! You're Not! You're No Crazier Than The Average Asshole Out Walkin' Around On The Streets And That's It.

But The Rest Are Even Scared To Open Up And Laugh. You Know, That's The First Thing That Got Me About This Place, That There Wasn't Anybody Laughing. I Haven't Heard A Real Laugh Since I Came Through That Door, Do You Know That? Man, When You Lose Your Laugh You Lose Your Footing.

Turns Me On So Loud It's Like No Sound, Everybody Yelling At Me Hands Over Their Ears From Behind A Glass Wall, Faces Working Around In Talk Circles But No Sound From The Mouths. My Sound Soaks Up All Other Sound.