What Some People Would Call Antics, I

There Was A Time When I Wanted To Get Out Of The Western World. I Went Down To Grenada And Looked At A Place, And I Realised That If I Lived In A Grenadian Manner I'd Be Nothing But A Blah. I'm Going To Need Constant Bodyguarding, Guns And Money To Join The Community There. Otherwise You Just Got A Bunch Of Fat, Old White People Dying Together, Overeating, Drinking. Not Very Attractive.

And For So Long, I Had Thought If I Was Going To Write A Song, Or Get "into" Something, I Had To At Least Smoke A Joint Or Something. And That Didn't Work Anymore. Once I Was Fairly Well Cleaned Out, Even A Little Bit Of A Drug Getting Into My Work Threw Me Off Kilter.

Stages Are Getting Higher And Higher, And I'm Getting Older And Older.

Onstage I've Been Hit By A Grapefruit, Beercans, Eggs, Spit, Money, Cigarette Butts, Mandies, Quaaludes, Joints, Bras, Panties, And A Fist.

In The Morning I'd Write These Essays, Anything That I'd Feel Like Writing, And In The Afternoon, I'd Spend Time With My Guitar. I Had Decided After Listening To My Last Four Or Five Albums That My Biggest Weakness Musically Was Melody. The Reason I Had Been Singing In A Monotone Over The Chord Patterns In My Songs Was That I Never Practiced Doing Melodies.