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It had been three weeks, four days and twelve hours since I'd seen her. Since she'd torn my heart out. If I had been drinking, I'd blame it on the alcohol. It had to be an illusion, a desperate one. But I hadn't been drinking. Not a drop. There was no mistaking Blaire. It was her. She was actually here. Blaire was back in Rosemary. She was at my house.
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Writing fulfils an insatiable drive. Finishing the story satisfies my thirst. But I must keep drinking until the story quenches a buyer.
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I like eating fine foods and drinking nice wine. Even if I had a really good figure, I don't think I'd get my t**s and ***** out for no one.
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There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who want to know the facts, and those who want to make up a nice story to feel better. I wish I was the kind who made up stories.
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Smoking is similar to hitting yourself over the head with a hammer because, when you stop, you feel better
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I write songs about stuff that I can't really get past personally - and then I write a song about it and I feel better.
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For many of these people the social is just a mirror of themselves. I'm not against the social, but I want something genuinely social, not something that has been fetishized as social so that a group of people can feel better about themselves.
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In Biblical times, a man could have as many wives as he could afford. Just like today.
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In one day, I have times where I'm feeling great, I feel like I love my life, and then 2:30 rolls around and I'm the angriest man alive. My wife sees it.
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I'm a polygamist. I can afford to have as many wives as I can afford to have. All Africans believe in it. My dad has four wives.
