There was this mountain village in Russia where my music was getting in on some German radio station. I remember this because music used to get up to Saskatchewan from Texas. Late at night after the local station closed down.

An unhappy mother does not raise a happy child.

America is in a runaway-train position and dragging all the world with it. It's grotesquely mentally ill.

I'm a painter first, and a musician second.

Let light hearts remake us.

At the point where I'm trying to force something and it's not happening, and I'm getting frustrated with, say, writing a poem, I can go and pick up the brushes and start painting. At the point where the painting seems to not be going anywhere, I go and pick up the guitar.

Fly silly sea bird, no dreams can possess you, no voices can blame you for sun on your wings.