She took off her wheel, took off her bell, took off her wig, said, how do I smell? I hot footed it barenaked out the window.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark as human gods aim for their mark.

The confessional singer-songwriter movement of the 1970s was in full swing, and Bob Dylan's emotional album [ Blood on the Tracks] resonated with the times. There would be other hits, but never the same alchemy of emotion and time.

Here's the thing with me and the religious thing. This is the flat-out truth: I find the religiosity and philosophy in the music. I don't find it anywhere else.

I wanted to understand things and then be free of them. I needed to learn how to telescope things, ideas. Things were too big to see all at once, like all the books in the library-everything laying around on all the tables. You might be able to put it all into one paragraph or into one verse of a song if you could get it right.

There doesn't seem to be any tomorrow. Every time I wake up, no matter in what position, it's always been today.

Sold my guitar to the baker's son for a few crumbs and a place to hide.