The earthly power sucks shadowed milk from sleepy tears undone, from nippled skin as smooth as silk the bugles blown as one.

I get lost, sometimes. Days pass and this emptiness fills my heart.

The outside world is black and white with only one color dead.

I like the touch and the smell of all the pretty dresses you wear.

I try when I'm writing to fill my head and my ears with all sorts of stuff and then let it settle and filter through. At a certain point it seems like fruitless activity because you're taking a lot of time and not seeming to get anything. And then, slowly, you realize you've actually digested elements and that your thinking is being freed up and the way you build up compositions is changed as a result of what you've been listening to.

We've got to get in to get out.

Whenever there's a camera around, a video or film camera, it's a great deal harder for those in power to bury the story.