Well: to me, having American citizenship feels no different than having a plastic loyalty card for a fucking grocery store.

The older I get, the less I feel like a person with an identity and a history and so on, and more like some dark broth floating in a vertical cavern on the verge of collapse

“Now as I stumble
And reel to my bed
All that I’ve done
All that I’ve said
Means nothin’ to me
I’d soon as be dead
All of this world be forgotten”

Dude hell yeah, Townes Van Zandt was the coolest dude.

“I can’t go—I’m at home reading ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'” is a real excuse I just used

“The worst thing you could say about that son of a bitch,” said the sheriff, standing over the lifeless body of the man once called Star Sailor, “was that he was a lonely idiot. And who can blame a fella for that?”

Two days out of the week I work the opening shift at a little restaurant a block away from my house. I put on ‘Flood’ by Boris as soon as I get in. I make tea and stare at the Berkeley Hills for ten minutes.

After the album ends, I put on something by Rei Harakami, which sounds like the kind of music they’d play in the PBS gift shop. Sometimes people say, “Hey, this is nice to listen to.” And I say, “Yeah!”

Last week a woman thanked me for playing Rei Harakami. I told her I had to listen to it in the morning because my brain is way too fucked up to handle words then. She agreed!

Over the next four hours I drink probably a half gallon of various kinds of tea. Then I walk home and take a nap!

This is what my dreams look like