Gold Don't Come Off. What's Good Stays

Music [is] The Third Rail Of Life. You Grabbed It To Shock Yourself Out Of The Dull Drag Of Hours. To Feel Something. To Burn With All The Emotions You Didn't Get To Experience In The Ordinary Run Of School, Tv, And Loading The Dishwasher After Dinner.

I Felt Like It Needed Some Color Down There, So I Painted The Walls With The Motherfucker.

I Remind Myself That No One Day Of Writing Matters All That Much. A Story Is Built Somewhat Like A Stalactite - One Little Drip Of Mud And Grit At A Time.

He Understood That The Ghost Existed First And Foremost Within His Own Head. That Maybe Ghosts Always Haunted Minds, Not Places. If He Wanted To Take A Shot At It, He’d Have To Turn The Barrel Against His Own Temple.

I Am; I Was. I Want To Be.