You keep seeing your picture on posters that you are missing but you're not. That'd be weird, right? Or say you look down at the sidewalk and earthworms are spelling your name. Or you open a peanut bag and the 'hello' is written in your writing on the inside of the shell. Would that weird ya?

You have to be willing to spend time making things for no known reason.

You may be a lady but you are still the man!

Something can only become an illusion after disillusionment. Before that, it is something real.

It is true that I am a person with black pockets of evil and hatred in my heart. There are underground places inside of me

There are certain children who are told they are too sensitive, and there are certain adults who believe sensitivity is a problem that can be fixed in the way that crooked teeth can be fixed and made straight. And when these two come together you get a fairytale, a kind of story with hopelessness in it.I believe there is something in these old stories that does what singing does to words. They have transformational capabilities, in the way melody can transform mood.They can't transform your actual situation, but they can transform your experience of it. We don't create a fantasy world to escape reality, we create it to be able to stay. I believe we have always done this, used images to stand and understand what otherwise would be intolerable.

What year is it in your imagination?

What is an idea made of? Of future, past and also meanwhile.

Dear Anyone Who Finds This, Do not blame the drugs.

The groove is so mysterious. We're born with it and we lose it and the world seems to split apart before our eyes into stupid and cool. When we get it back, the world unifies around us, and both stupid and cool fall away.I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.

Ask a burning question, get a burning answer

Above me soft footsteps, the sound through the ceiling of a teenager haunted by a door to the night. My cousin Maybonne lights up a Salem, blows ghosts to the darkness, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

I am hell with a knife and there is nothing I can really do about it but try and keep my mouth shut and try not to let it show.

A man who has been dead for a week in a hot trailer looks more like a man than you would first expect.

If it is your time love will track you down like a cruise missile.

Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.