Young, Gay And Stuck In Arkansas? Sounds

I Could Fall In Love With A Cruel Desert That Kills Without Passion, A Canyon Full Of Scorpions, One Thousand Blinding Arctic Storms, A Century Sealed In A Cave, A River Of Molten Salt Flowing Down My Throat. But Never With You.

I Come From A Minimum Wage Working World, As We All Did For At Least Some Part Of Our Lives, And That Is Never Out Of My Rearview. I've Never Forgotten How Much Your Feet Hurt After You've Stood On Them For Like 12 Hours. And How The Drudgery Of A Job You Hate Craps On Your Entire Life; How You Treat Other People, How You Treat Yourself, And It Really Was Getting To Me.

I Don't Want To Go With The Smooth Skin And The Calm Brow. I Hope I End Up A Blithering Idiot Cursing The Sun - Hallucinating, Screaming, Giving Obscene And Inane Lectures On Street Corners And Public Parks.

More Than 30 Years Ago, In Washington, D.c., I Secured A Copy Of A Single By A Los Angeles Band Called The Bags. The Two-song 7-inch, Released On Dangerhouse, Had A Girl On The Cover Who Looked Right At You With Huge Eyes. The Songs, 'survive' And 'babylonian Gorgon,' Were Great And Made Many Of My Mix Tapes.

I Was A Very Repressed Young Person. I Wasn't Good At School. I Didn't Fit In.