New York exists for me. Not me for it.

New York exists for me. Not me for it.

I think maybe it's my personality. People don't like my face.

I'm shocked and surprised by people that are shocked and surprised that certain things in life are made up or not as true as you might believe them to be.

Only cool people care about the origin stories of why they like something, and I'm not cool.

The whole exploitation thing is funny, too. Exploitation is the nature of the world, isn't it?

We're artists. We cry out to be exploited on some level. Write a dissertation on my work. Write a biography about me.