Life Is Fundamentally Up For Grabs

I'm Not Planning What I Listen To, Except When I Think The Music Can Guide Me To Some Emotional Place I Want To Be Reminded Of.

How Often Had That Hydrant Even Been Opened? Did You Jet Water Through A Car Window, What, Twice At Best? Summer Burned Just A Few Afternoons Long, In The End. As For Flying, Dose Never Even Glanced At The Sky. Flying Was A Summer Within A Summer, A Whim. So Why Think Of It At All?

Artists Freeze Themselves Into These Weird Postures That Are Meant To Be Impressive And Involving, Then They Fling Them Out Into The World Like Polaroids, And Then They Move On. And I'm Stuck In This Intense Relationship To The Polaroid.

I Listen To Music All The Time. I Write While Listening To Music. And I Tell Myself That The Music Nourishes The Art Forms That I Do Master And Domesticate, And Have Authority Over.

The Less You Offer, The More Readers Are Forced To Bring The World To Life With Their Own Visual Imaginings. I Personally Hate An Illustration Of A Character On A Jacket Of A Book. I Never Want To Have Someone Show Me What The Character Really Looks Like - Or What Some Artist Has Decided The Character Really Looks Like - Because It Always Looks Wrong To Me. I Realize That I Prefer To Kind Of Meet The Text Halfway And Offer A Lot Of Visual Collaborations From My Own Imaginative Response To The Sentences.