I'm a firm believer that there are no rules in art. Every trajectory is different.

The arts and a belief in the values of the civil rights movement, in the overwhelming virtue of diversity, these were our religion. My parents worshipped those ideals.

Someday I would change my name to Shut Up and save everybody a lot of time.

There's something about the rhythms of language that correspond to the rhythms of our own bodies.

Apologies aren't something you want to get in the habit of practicing in the mirror

Tourette's is just one big lifetime of tag, really. The world (or my brain---same thing) appoints me it, again and again. So I tag back. Can it do otherwise? If you've ever been it you know the answer.

There were days when no kid came out of his house without looking around. The week after Halloween had a quality both hungover and ominous, the light pitched, the sky smashed against the rooftops.