Worse Than Not Realizing The Dreams Of

The Vaporish Cocaine Loosens The Contours Of Their Lives And Sets Their Bodies Adrift, And So They Are Untouchable.

Solitude, As I Understand It, Does Not Signify An Unhappy State, But Rather Secret Royalty, Profound Incommunicability Yet A More Or Less Obscure Knowledge Of An Invulnerable Singularity.

Perhaps All Music, Even The Newest, Is Not So Much Something Discovered As Something That Re-emerges From Where It Lay Buried In The Memory, Inaudible As A Melody Cut In A Disc Of Flesh. A Composer Lets Me Hear A Song That Has Always Been Shut Up Silent Within Me.

The Pimp Has A Grin, Never A Smile.

It's The Hour When Night Breaks Away From The Day, My Dove, Let Me Go.