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.

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.

Got more milky syllables than alphabet cereals.

I think that my parents' only regret is that they wasted so much money on my stupid prestigious university degree.

It also makes me worry about photos of me that exist that I might not even know about. How do I appear in these unwitting photographs? Who is taking them, without my knowledge or consent, and from where?

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

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.