Sundays Tend To Be A

Peter Used To Say That An Artist’s Job Is To Make Order Out Of Chaos. You Collect Details, Look For A Pattern, And Organize. You Make Sense Out Of Senseless Facts. You Puzzle Together Bits Of Everything. You Shuffle And Reorganize. Collage. Montage. Assemble.

Any Time Some Well-meaning Person Forces You To Demonstrate You Have No Talent And Rubs Your Nose In The Fact You're A Failure At The Only Dream You Ever Had, Take Another Drink.

The Avant-garde In Every Field Consists Of The Lonely, The Friendless, The Uninvited. All Progress Is The Product Of The Unpopular.

You Love Me. You Ignore Me. You Save My Life, Then You Cook My Mother Into Soap.

I'm Always Trying To Reach A Transcendent Point, A Romantic Point, But Reach It In A Really Unconventional Way, A Really Profane Way. To Get To That Romantic, Touching, Heartbreaking Place, But Through A Lot Of Acts Of Profanity.