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.

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

My hair is my everything: my best friend, my mentor, my moral compass.

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.

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.

I've been college, but to be truthfully frank, weed is knowledge because it makes me think

I've never really been a big fan of comedy songs, frankly. I think I enjoy the emotional payoff that the best music achieves to want to waste too much time turning good music into a joke.