I'm Hugely Self-critical In The Morning.

And I Wish That I Was Made Of Stone So That I Would Not Have To See A Beauty Impossible To Define A Beauty Impossible To Believe A Beauty Impossible To Endure The Blood Imparted In Little Sips The Smell Of You Still On My Hands As I Bring The Cup Up To My Lips No God Up In The Sky No Devil Beneath The Sea Could Do The Job That You Did, Baby Of Bringing Me To My Knees

Film Seems To Be A Medium Designed For Betrayal And Violence.

As Australians, We See The Law As Inherently Bad. We Have A Real Inherent Distaste For Authority In Our Makeup.

We Are Still Struggling With People Who Don't Feel Comfortable Going Into Museums. As A Visual Artist I Ask How Artists Can Be Part Of Enacting A Change.

The Big Problem With Songwriting For Me Is Starting A New Song. It's The Thing Where All The Anguish Exists, Not In The Writing Of The Song, But The Starting Of The New Song.