No matter how bad things get, you can still walk away.

With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.

Every generation wants to be the last. Every generation hates the next trend in music they can't understand. We hate to give up those reins of our culture. To find our own music playing in elevators. The ballad for our revolution, turned into background music for a television commercial. To find our generation's clothes and hair suddenly retro.

Worker bees can leave. Even drones can fly away. The Queen is their slave.

It's not enough to be numbered with the grains of sand on the beach and the stars in the sky.

The photographer in my head says: Give me peace. Flash. Give me release. Flash.

Any 'artist' makes a living by expressing what others can't - because they're unaware of their feelings, they're too afraid to express those feelings, or they lack the skills to communicate and be understood.