I Can Remember Exactly Where I Sat

I Don't Mean To Beat A Made-in-america Drum, But I Would Be Lying If I Said It Doesn't Feel Somehow Right To Be Printing Books In The U.s.

Pain Comes At Me And I Take It, Chew It For A Few Minutes, And Spit It Back Out. It's Just Not My Thing Anymore.

I Need Eight Hours To Get Maybe 20 Minutes Of Work Done. I Had One Of Those Yesterday: Seven Hours Of Self-loathing.

My Parents Told Me They Were Going To Kill Me At Least A Thousand Times Growing Up. "i'm Gonna Kill You," And Then They'd Whack Me On The Side Of The Head Or Whatever. And "what's Wrong With You?" And "i'm Gonna Lock You Up," And "i'm Gonna Throw You Out The Window," And "i'm Gonna Kill You." You Know, All These Things That You Say In The Heat Of A Normal Chaotic Household.

We Have No Choice. We Need The Communion Of Souls And Only Here Are They Awake.