Write in the kitchen, lock yourself up in the bathroom. Write on the bus or the welfare line, on the job or during meals.

Living in a state of psychic unrest, in a Borderland, is what makes poets write and artists create.

I had to leave home so I could find myself, find my own intrinsic nature buried under the personality that had been imposed on me.

The act of writing is the act of making soul, alchemy.

Wild tongues can't be tamed, they can only be cut out.

Though we tremble before uncertain futures may we meet illness, death and adversity with strength may we dance in the face of our fears.

I can't seem to stay out of my own way.