I've evolved enough that I've learned to not subject others to the fallout of my own unhappiness. I think that's a significant, hard-won behavioral leap that, sadly, a staggering percent of the population of folks I know haven't quite mastered.

Leibniz mapped the principles concerning the conservation of energy, but nobody has yet scientifically diagrammed the conservation of emotion - have they? How is this subsumed pain vented? Is it released in my art? I hope so, but I also suspect that it's emitted in my sleep.

London is always fun, obviously, but something about Glasgow really speaks to me. Usually what it says, though, is "Let's get wasted."

I'm not a huge fan of covers in general, but collaborations always make them more fun - they're sort of neutral territory.

I often yearn to regress into a state that's slightly more atavistic than my decades of conditioning generally allow, but it's difficult to let go of those reigns.

Seeing a photograph of myself is often pretty jarring. Why is it that the vision I see of myself in a photo is so different than the one I see in a mirror - not to mention the "self" that I see in my mind's eye? Pondering it can pretty easily cast me into a vortex of self-doubt, wondering how the me that people experience - my voice, my personality, my creative expression - is regarded without my knowledge.

Sometimes playing TV can be really nerve-wracking, and I think I tend to handle that by trying to look at my band-mates as frequently as possible and ignore everything else.