What You're Really After When

Out Of Sorrow Entire Worlds Have Been Built Out Of Longing Great Wonders Have Been Willed They're Only Little Tears Darling Let Them Spill And Lay Your Head Upon My Shoulder.

The Body Becomes The Carrier For The Work. It's Not Really About The Physical Body; It Really Becomes The Apparatus That Carries And Moves The Work. I Don't Really Consider The Body As Much; I Look At It As A Tool.

Into The Mercy Seat I Climb My Head Is Shaved, My Head Is Wired And Like A Moth That Tries To Enter The Bright Eye I Go Shuffling Out Of Life Just To Hide In Death Awhile And Anyway I Never Lied.

It Was About The Preciousness Of That, And How They Viewed Those Birds As Art, As Something Valuable. I Didn't Care One Way Or Another Back Then, But Now, Thinking About My Grandparents - Who Are Still Alive But Getting Older - I See The Birds As Sort Of Time Capsules. Now I Go Home During The Holidays And They Hold A Lot Of Weight In Terms Of Nostalgia And Memory. Now They Mean Everything.

Music Is Storming, Driving, Relentless, Devotional, Slinky, Subtle, Heartbreakingly-beautiful Sounds That, Lyrically, Switch From The Cynical To The Sanguine, The Defeated To The Defiant, Dealing In Love, War, Beauty, Children, Romance, Rejection, Pethedine, Poetry, Panties, God, Auden, Johnny Cash, Cold Potatoes, Too-much-money, Not Enough Money, Writer’s Block, Flowers, Animals And More Flowers. But Maybe I’m Projecting Here.