He's At The Chocolate Teapot End Of

No Man Is An Island.

It Struck Him That How You Spent Christmas Was A Message To The World About Where You Were In Life, Some Indication Of How Deep A Hole You Had Managed To Burrow For Yourself

Everything's Complicated, Even Those Things That Seem Flat In Their Bleakness Or Sadness.

Because Music, Like Color, Or A Cloud, Is Neither Intelligent Nor Unintelligent - It Just Is. The Chord, The Simplest Building Block For Even The Tritest, Silliest Chart Song, Is A Beautiful, Perfect, Mysterious Thing, And When An Ill-read, Uneducated, Uncultured, Emotionally Illiterate Boor Puts A Couple Of Them Together, He Has Every Chance Of Creating Something Wonderful And Powerful. All I Ask Of Music Is That Is Sounds Good.

Asking The Head I Have Now To Explain Its Own Thinking Is As Pointless As Dialing Your Own Telephone Number On Your Own Telephone: Either Way, You Get An Engaged Signal. Or Your Own Answer Message, If You Have That Kind Of Phone System.