It was really bizarre for me to go from being a very private and obscure person and then to be in any way on the internet - like having my picture or videos online.

Back in the day, no one had digital cameras. They took these pictures of me, got them developed, and then mailed them to me.

I love karaoke; you have to wail when you do karaoke.

I feel cool about making music and I feel secure pushing boundaries in my music. But things like videos and photos I find really difficult. I don't really like being in front of a camera - even though it is my job and I must act like I do.

You can always accuse my records of being harrowing or dark or bleak. There is processing of trauma on my records and they contain a lot of healing. As a person who has been watching other's rage for years, instead of having my own tantrums, I keep the feelings inside until I can find a way of making them into music. The songs are like healing spells and it really works for me. When I really do a good job on a song, it gets rid of a weight. As far as hope goes, there is hope that you can heal through processing stuff and make it through to the other side. That's all I can hope for.

I've made choices in my life to be somewhat broke to do art and I think it is going to be the same thing with online exposure. You have to be able to make the choices that can make you happy or it will make you crazy.

The suburbs have always been like an American version of utopia and a reflection of their hopes and fears. Erika's version of American suburban utopia - which I am renaming the outer ring - is a diverse place, with affordable housing, the possibility for people to have small businesses, which is more realistic in the outer ring than in the city with its huge costs, decent public transportation and the ability to access art and cultural events. That's my dream for America.