Central To Living A Life That Is

The Only Thing That Makes One An Artist Is Making Art. And That Requires The Precise Opposite Of Hanging Out; A Deeply Lonely And Unglamorous Task Of Tolerating Oneself Long Enough To Push Something Out.

New York Is Breaking My Heart. I’ve Often Said That It’s Like Having A Really Interesting Boyfriend Suddenly Becoming Really, Really Into Wine, And Having To Have Endless Conversations About It.

Have You Ever Had One Of Those Moments When You Know That You're Being Visited By Your Own Future? They Come So Rarely And With Little Fanfare, Those Moments. They're Not Particularly Photogenic. There's No Breach In The Clouds To Reveal The Shining City On A Hill. No Folk Dancing Children Outside Your Bus, No Production Values To Speak Of- Just A Glimpse Of Such Quotidian, Incontrovertible Truth That After The Initial Shock At The Supreme Weirdness Of It All, A Kind Of Calm Sets In. So This Is To Be My Life.

There Is Nothing So Cleansing Or Reassuring As A Vicarious Sadness.

There Are Many Things In This World That Are An Outrage, To Be Sure, But Death At Our Current Life Expectancy Doesn’t Strike Me As One Of Them. Maybe I Sound Like Some Victorian Who Felt That Forty Years Ought To Be Enough For Any Man, But One Of The Marks Of A Life Well Lived Has To Be Reaching A State Of Finally Getting It, Of Not Needing More, And Of Being Able To Sign Off With Something Approaching Peace Of Mind.