I play the living hell out of my guitars daily, and as sure as the sun rises in the east, killer licks, ideas, grooves, patterns and songs erupt every time.

I'm such a lucky guy. I've been able to make my own decisions for my own life for the last fifty years...or sixty ... well maybe not sixty. Even though I think I was making my own decisions at the tender age of eight.

There was a time when man stood strong, right was right and wrong was wrong.

The spirit of the woods is like an old good friend, makes me feel warm and good inside. I knew his name and it was good to see him again, cause in the wind he's still alive.

I stop and think what they call "punk rock" today...give me a break! Let me know when they can walk in the vapor trail of Little Richard, which was punk. You've got a gay black guy with a pompadour singing about tutti frutti with your white girl. Fuck you.

You mean to say that when an imbecile walks into a church, office, day care center, or school, stumbling about, almost zombie-like, with gun-filled hands at his side, blabbering incoherently to his next victim, the reaction of grown men and women is to run, cry, whimper, and hide under a desk or pew? The sheeping of America is nearly complete.

When I made those wild-ass comments, on stage, about then-Senator Hillary Clinton and then-senator Barack Obama, I don't know if you can grasp the degree of adrenaline and intensity and sheer over-the-top animal spirit and attitude that I live on stage. I've got to take that deep breath.