The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering.
I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things.
The large print giveth and the small print taketh away.
a foreign affair juxtaposed with a statesideand domestically approved romantic fancy is mysteriously attractive due to circumstances knowing it will only be parlayed into a memory
Children make up the best songs, anyway. Better than grown-ups. Kids are always working on songs and throwing them away, like little origami things or paper airplanes. They don’t care if they lose it; they’ll just make another one.
And I remember quiet evenings trembling close to you…
I made a wish on a sliver of moonlightA sly grin and a bowl full of stars
Well, it’s either kiss me or kill me, that’s how I see it.
You must have brought the bad weather with youThe sky’s the color of leadAll you’ve left me is a featherOn an unmade bed
Most of the things you absorb you will ultimately secrete.
I don’t have a drinking problem ‘Cept when I can’t get a drink.
When the weather’s rough and it’s whiskey in the rain it’s best to wrap your savior up in cellophane.
You can learn a lot about a woman by getting smashed with her.
New York, of course, is to be in endless surreal situations where a fifty-thousand dollar, gun-metal Mercedez pulls up into a puddle of blood, and out steps a twenty-five karat blonde transvestite with a two dollar wristwatch.
You hope people are going to be listening to you after you’re gone. And they like you better after you’re gone.
As a kid, I did want to be an old-timer, since they were the ones with the big stories and the cool clothes. I wanted to go there. Now, I guess I want to bring that with me and go back in time.
We are buried beneath the weight of information, which is being confused with knowledge; quantity is being confused with abundance and wealth with happiness.
Don’t you know there ain’t no devil, it’s just god when he’s drunk.
My reality needs imagination like a bulb needs a socket. My imagination needs reality like a blind man needs a cane.
Mostly, I straddle reality and the imagination. My reality needs imagination like a bulb needs a socket. My imagination needs reality like a blind man needs a cane.
You know what I really love? The CD players in a car. How when you put the CD right up by the slot, it actually takes it out of your hand, like it’s hungry. It pulls it in, and you feel like it wants more silver discs.
I don’t like the word ‘poetry,’ and I don’t like poetry readings, and I usually don’t like poets. I would much prefer describing myself and what I do as: I’m kind of a curator, and I’m kind of a night-owl reporter.