I never could read Foucault. I find philosophy tedious. All of my knowledge comes from reading novels and some history. I read Being and Nothingness and realized that I remembered absolutely nothing when I finished...

It was a kind of sado-masochism. I would take the things that were painful to me and elevate them and, through the mantra of music, make them into a release.

When my sister was released from the mental hospital, she came to live with me in the tilting and crumbling one-bedroom house I’d bought with the small amount of money I inherited when our parents...