So, You Can Make Me Come, That

I Don't Want To Sit On The Sidelines And Not Value The Gift Of Being Here. Instead Of The Idea Of Time Ticking Away, The Grains Of Sand Running Out, I Try To Think Of Time As Giving Me Another Grain Of Sand, Another Gift. So Time Passing Is An Accumulation, Rather Than A Diminishing.

I Survived This Torture Which Left Me Paralyzed For Years. That's What That Night Was All About, Mutilation, More Than Violence Through Sex. I Really Do Feel As Though I Was Psychologically Mutilated That Night And Now I'm Trying To Put The Pieces Back Together Again. Through Love, Not Hatred. And Through My Music. My Strength Has Been To Open Again, To Life, And My Victory Is The Fact That, Despite It All, I Kept Alive My Vulnerability.

I Don't Mind A Dirty Girl. But What I Find Tragic Is When We, As Women, Become Not The Subject Of Our Own Story But Someone Else's Object.

Sometimes I Hear My Voice And It's Been Here, Silent All These Years

I'm A Mother, And That's Really Important. Today, The Mother And The Musician Can Sit Next To Each Other. Even When The Musician Is Out There In Full Swing, The Mother Doesn't Get Switched Off.