influere

As we get more technically driven, the importance of people becomes more than it’s ever been before. You have to utilize who you are in your work. Nobody else can do that. Nobody else can pull from your background, from your parents, your upbringing, your whole life experience. If you allow that to happen, it’s really the only way you can do some unique work. And you’re going to enjoy the work a lot more as well.

 . . . because a true revolution has no allies. It’s just that simple. Because a true revolution, not a fast one, not a quick one, not a fashionable one, but a real fucking revolution is at its core spiritual. It is a complete decimation of one’s priorities, beliefs, and way of living. And reconstruction in the spirit of, uh . . . you have to create a new god. Or gods. Or whatever you can. But it is imperative that you believe in something. Something greater than yourself. All right? And it can’t be the ocean, or your favorite song. And it can’t be the movement, or the people, or the words. You’ve got to believe in the poetry. Because everything else in your life will fail you. Including yourself. You hear me? That’s where you are. You’re sick. Your whole system’s on the verge of collapse, and the addict in you is trying to sell you on the same shit that got you sick in the first place. And if you keep going the way that you’re going, you’ll rot from the inside until you cave in and die. Your only hope is a revolution. But a real fucking revolution, inside and out. But you gotta see it through.You can’t half-ass this shit. You just have to commit to it, every single day. And know that you can always do it better. And be better. Because who knows—one day you might succeed. I don’t underestimate anyone. Stranger things have happened.

Prime Time said it best--you look good, you play good. You play good, they pay good.

“ . . . what survives the wreck of time is the force of the imagination and the power of expression.”

The rebellion of art is a daily rebellion against the state of living death routinely called real life.

My family seems exactly like an archipelago—all part of the same whole but still separate and alone. And always drifting slowly apart.

Frank: OK, it’s time we had a little chat. V, could we get two more of these?You’re a bad drunk.

“Power is a curious thing, my Lord. Are you fond of riddles?”

The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.