Instead Of Just Looking Back,

Because There's Just So Much In A Day Now, I Keep Writing In Much More Abstract Terms, Like I Don't Try To Write About What Happened Anymore. It Would Be Impossible.

Instead Of Just Looking Back, Whiplash-style, I Can Assume There's Something Else Coming. Time Just Folds Over Itself, Like Origami.

I Haven't Been Living Anywhere Because I've Been On Tour For The Past Two Years.

I Know More Than I Knew Before I Didn't Rest I Didn't Stop Did We Fight Or Did We Talk.

I'm In The Countryside Outside Of Paris, In A Beautiful Old Manor House. The Studio Is In The Basement, But We Decided To Set Everything Up In The Old Parlor And Dining-room Area So We Can Look At Each Other And (at) The Sunshine Coming Through The Stained-glass Windows. It's Pretty Idyllic, And I Think It's Spoiling Me. I'll Have To Go Back To Regular Life After This.