I'm trying to be confrontational and direct. If I lack directness then I only have myself to blame because I lack the skills to make my point clear.

No time for drug addiction, no time for smoke or booze. Too strong for a shortened life span, I've got no time to lose.

I mean Black Flag happened. I was lucky. I don't think I could have put together something with one percent of that oomph on my own.

Look, it's a monster. He's walking alone. Look, he's pulling something out of his pocket. He threw it on the ground. Let's go see what it is. It's a black box. You open it... ok... Look, it's sorrow, misery and pain. It's loneliness and longing. Boy, he'll be sorry he lost these.

I'd like to rid myself of writing, to surrender, to release the venom. And hopefully at some point, I'll be a happy, well-adjusted guy and I'll have no need for all that 'art.'

Hating someone is giving them too much, just leave them alone.

The opportunity to write for the 'L.A. Weekly' has been one of the better breaks that has come my way in a long time.