Everything's stolen. Everything precious - be it a kiss, or be it James Brown - gets misappropriated to the aid of the advertising executives. So, an act of reclamation, somewhere else to be: that's what I want my music to be. Somewhere you can step into. A place.

October's gold is dim — the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.

Wonder in everything No matter how great or small... Same thing that's scrawled across the stars Is written under our skin... There's a time to search for understanding Sometimes you just got to sing New horizons, new horizon within

I'm absolutely flooded with a raucous energy to get out into the world and tell my story again. I feel like this is spring. After a period of shriveling, out come the leaves.

I find everything a struggle.

You can't just be reactive to the things going on in your life. You have to imagine, and you have to plunder other people's work, books, poems, ideas, observations.

I don't know what I want, but I know what I don't want: I don't want to just repeat myself.