carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters

Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.

When a person realizes he has been deeply heard, his eyes moisten. I think in some real sense he is weeping for joy. It is as though he were saying, ‘Thank God, somebody heard me. Someone knows what it’s like to be me.’

I’ve found that the saddest people are also the funniest and only those who understand complexity can communicate simplicity.

“I like punk rock. I like girls with weird eyes. I like drugs. I like passion. I like things that are built well. I like innocence. I like and am grateful for the blue collar worker whose existence allows artists to not have to work at menial jobs. I like killing gluttony. I like playing my cards wrong. I like various styles of music. I like making fun of musicians whom I feel plagiarize or offend music as art by exploiting their embarrassingly pathetic versions of their work. I like to write poetry. I like to ignore others’ poetry. I like vinyl. I like nature and animals. I like to be by myself. I like to feel guilty for being a white, American Male.”