Van Gogh was impulsive.

Will you take me as I am? Strung out on another man...California, I'm comin' home.

I wish I had a river I could skate away on?

Once I got the open tunings for some reason, I began to get the harmonic sophistication that I heard that my musical fountain inside was excited by. Once I got some interesting chords to play with, my writing began to come.

Elusive dreams and vague desires fanned to fiery needs by deadly deeds of falling empires.

I have one piece of music, since 1997, and I don't see it having lyrics. Where does it go in this world? So I haven't recorded it.

Heaven's full of astronauts and the Lord's on death row.