I Am The Assasin Of

I Come From A Town Of Great Musicians: Washington, D.c. It's No Joke, That History.

I Think About The Meaning Of Pain. Pain Is Personal. It Really Belongs To The One Feeling It. Probably The Only Thing That Is Your Own. I Like Mine.

More Than 30 Years Ago, In Washington, D.c., I Secured A Copy Of A Single By A Los Angeles Band Called The Bags. The Two-song 7-inch, Released On Dangerhouse, Had A Girl On The Cover Who Looked Right At You With Huge Eyes. The Songs, 'survive' And 'babylonian Gorgon,' Were Great And Made Many Of My Mix Tapes.

Everyone Who Knows Me Knows That I'm A Hopeless Romantic Who Listens To Love Ballads And Doo-wop Songs All The Time.

The Ecstatic Insanity Of Romantic Pursuit Can Be So Enhanced By Music That Entire Romantic Conquests, Victories And Ruinous, Crushing Defeats Can Be Tied To Songs To Such A Degree That It's Almost Unbearable To Listen To Them Again, As They Bring Back The Memories So Vividly.