I'm Irish, Yeah, But I

If You Covered A Broom Handle With Oil And Shoved It Up My Arse, Then Put Me On A Trampoline, In A Lift, I Could Write A Better Song On The Walls.

Love In All Its Forms Is Very Difficult ... To Express. It Changes, Obviously. If You’re Young, And You’re Romantically In Love With Somebody, And Often If You’ve Just Met Somebody, Its Crazy! It’s Completely Overwhelming. You Can’t Think Of Anything Else. You Just Want To Climb Inside The Other Person And Live Under Their Pancreas. And Then It Mellows, Somewhat... To The Point Where You Can Barely Look At Them... Without Feeling A Mild Distaste

You Can See Desperation In People Who Are Too Eager To Laugh Because They're In Such A Hurry Not To Look At What's Confronting Them In Their Lives And That's Kind Of Sad Because There's A Kind Of Pornographic Aspect To It, Of Making Some Sort Of Pain Go Away, Of Hovering Around A Pain, Making Yourself Numb, Not Feel Anything.

I Wouldn't Be In A Huge Hurry To Go Back To Kansas. It Was Just Bizarre. There's A Lot Of Very, Very Heavy Set People Who Believe In Whatever They Were Told, Because They Didn't Seem To Get Out Very Much Or Be Interested In Leaving Where They Were. They Just Didn't Seem That Curious, And I Find That A Little Hard To Deal With.

I Enjoy Performing, Always, But When You're Taping A Gig, You've Got To Blank Out This Mass Apparatus Of Self-consciousness That's Surrounding You, This Invitation To Drown In Self-consciousness. Otherwise You Just Won't Be Able To Do Anything.