It is very difficult to tell Americans that they can't do something.

This is my own little rock theory: In my mind, Nirvana slayed the hair bands. They shot the top off the poodles.

Like a lot of inwardly drawn young people, I spent a lot of time in libraries. At my high school, I often spent my lunch breaks there.

My mother taught me how to read very early on and at school I was ahead of everyone in class... Reading was always something that I liked because I could do it alone and I was alone a lot of the time with my mother working the hours she did. Books became my friends very early on.

For me, returning to Los Angeles annihilates the memories of where I have just been with an astonishing speed.

I'm not trying to say I'm a big tough guy... I'm a typical American-waist deep in this violent culture.

My main goal is to stay alive. To keep fooling myself into hanging around. To keep getting up every day. Right now I live without inspiration. I go day to day and do the work because it's all I know. I know that if I keep moving I stand a chance. I must keep myself going until I find a reason to live. I need one so bad. On the other hand maybe I don't. Maybe it's all bullshit. Nothing I knew from my old life can help me here. Most of the things that I believed turned out to be useless. Appendages from someone else's life.