I am troubled, immeasurably by your eyes. I am struck by the feather of your soft reply. The sound of glass speaks quick, disdain and conceals what your eyes fight to explain.

Give me songs to sing and emerald dreams to dream and I'll give you love unfolding.

I think the highest and lowest points are the important ones. Anything else is just...in between.

No one here gets out alive.

Los Angeles is a city looking for a ritual to join its fragments, and The Doors are looking for such a ritual also. A kind of electric wedding. We hide ourselves in the music to reveal ourselves.

Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it's usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move. We cripple ourselves with lies.

I'm kind of hooked to the game of art and literature; my heroes are artists and writers.