Eat you inside out like stress...You hear my voice, you see my face, you know my name / I take it out your ass and charge it to the game

I often yearn to regress into a state that's slightly more atavistic than my decades of conditioning generally allow, but it's difficult to let go of those reigns.

I think that my parents' only regret is that they wasted so much money on my stupid prestigious university degree.

Seeing a photograph of myself is often pretty jarring. Why is it that the vision I see of myself in a photo is so different than the one I see in a mirror - not to mention the "self" that I see in my mind's eye? Pondering it can pretty easily cast me into a vortex of self-doubt, wondering how the me that people experience - my voice, my personality, my creative expression - is regarded without my knowledge.

My hair is my everything: my best friend, my mentor, my moral compass.

I've evolved enough that I've learned to not subject others to the fallout of my own unhappiness. I think that's a significant, hard-won behavioral leap that, sadly, a staggering percent of the population of folks I know haven't quite mastered.

I'm not a huge fan of covers in general, but collaborations always make them more fun - they're sort of neutral territory.