If You Have Information You've Got The

No Reader Owes Me Anything - I Am Owed Nothing For My Noble Efforts, Because My Writing Was Always Unconditional, Always Coming Out Of Inner Necessity.

Anything That Might Come Under Arts Should Not Be Subject To The Whims Of The Idiotic Market Because The Market's Stupid, And It Gravitates Toward Simplicity - Towards Essentializing Things So They Can Be Sold.

I Have Two Homes, Like Someone Who Leaves Their Hometown And/or Parents And Then Establishes A Life Elsewhere. They Might Say That They're Going Home When They Return To See Old Friends Or Parents, But Then They Go Home As Well When They Go To Where They Live Now. Sarajevo Is Home, Chicago Is Home.

I Cannot Stand That Whole Game Of Confession, That Is: Here I Have Sinned, Now I'm Confessing My Sins, And Describing My Path Of Sin And Then In The Act Of Confession I Beg For Your Forgiveness And Redemption.

A Particular Piece Of Music Attaches Itself To The Piece I'm Writing, And There Is Nothing Else I Can Listen To. Every Day I Return To The Same Space To Write, The Music Providing Both The Walls And The Pictures On The Walls.