I can't do anything I want to. I mean, I can't have my own TV show. I can't have my own movie. But within my little world, nobody tells me what to put on the albums.

Why don't you swallow razor blades?

You do what you love, or you get arrested.

Here comes Jesse Jackson, he talks of common ground. Does that common ground include me, or is it just a sound?

The president's dead, no one can find his head, its been missing for two weeks. But no one seemed to notice it.

Please don't set me free Death means a lot me

I'd harbored hopes that the intelligence that once inhabited novels or films would ingest rock. I was, perhaps, wrong.