We Have No Home, She Told Me.

How Right That The Body Changed Over Time, Becoming A Gallery Of Scars, A Canvas Of Experience, A Testament To Life And One's Capacity To Endure It.

And I Thought, There Was No God, There Was Only What You Wanted.

A Cliche Is Everything You've Ever Heard Of.

As An Artist, You Can Never Get What You Want. What You Do Never Approaches What You Want It To Be.

The Pearls Weren't Really White, They Were A Warm Oyster Beige, With Little Knots In Between So If They Broke, You Only Lost One. I Wished My Life Could Be Like That, Knotted Up So That Even If Something Broke, The Whole Thing Wouldn't Come Apart.