I had an all-Fear of Music iPod, just versions of the 11 songs from the record. No other songs allowed.

I suppose in a way most of my characters are non-consumers, not terribly interested in all the little baubles and artifacts of contemporary life.

Discomfort is very much part of my master plan.

I don't write about anything I don't love even if that love sometimes gets all screwed up and tormented.

Context is everything. Dress me up and see. I'm a carnival barker, an auctioneer, a downtown performance artist, a speaker in tongues, a senator drunk on filibuster. I've got Tourette's. My mouth won't quit, though mostly I whisper or subvocalize like I'm reading aloud, my Adam's apple bobbing, jaw muscle beating like a miniature heart under my cheek, the noise suppressed, the words escaping silently, mere ghosts of themselves, husks of empty breath and tone.

To the resentment that hides inside love, to the loneliness that hides among companions.

I work on a laptop specifically so I can work in cafes and pretend I'm part of the human world.