Flies Die In So Many Lonely Places.

Something Can Only Become An Illusion After Disillusionment. Before That, It Is Something Real. What Caused The Disillusionment? No One Told Me The Print On The Wall Was Just Ink And Paper And Had No Life Of Its Own. At Some Point The Cat Stopped Blinking, And I Stopped Thinking It Could.

I Found Myself Compelled, Like This Weird, Shameful Compulsion To Draw Cute Animals.

The Groove Is So Mysterious. We're Born With It And We Lose It And The World Seems To Split Apart Before Our Eyes Into Stupid And Cool. When We Get It Back, The World Unifies Around Us, And Both Stupid And Cool Fall Away. I Am Grateful To Those Who Are Keepers Of The Groove. The Babies And The Grandmas Who Hang On To It And Help Us Remember When We Forget That Any Kind Of Dancing Is Better Than No Dancing At All.

I Grew Up In A House That Had A Whole Lot Of Trouble. As Much Trouble As You Could Imagine.

At The Center Of Everything We Call 'the Arts,' And Children Call 'play,' Is Something Which Seems Somehow Alive.