He didn’t do any of the actual work—there were assistants for that. His role was to think. On occasion he might reveal to his assistants what he was thinking, and his ideas might or might not be incorporated. He left that up to them. He had only a vague awareness of the processes and techniques involved in creating the work. Assistants were underpaid, and left frequently, thus ensuring the steady pace of artistic evolution that had made him famous.

When Rotten sang no future
this is what he meant

How could something so wonderful even come to exist?

Maximum number of sounds heard simultaneously:

Stepping out after a dreadful night, you feel the air on your skin and it all rolls over you again: the majesty of life on earth.

Looking through the eyes of the photograph itself.

Diagnosis: zero personality disorder.

I have a particularly ugly shirt reserved for days when I feel particularly ugly.

All music will eventually be drumming.

Fragments, the only things that hold together.

Hurtling toward the last curve, picking up speed and terrified.

Stock characters:
1) man with gangrenous wound.

The seventies were shit; the eighties sucked ass; he barely remembered the nineties; and everything after 2000 was lost in a haze of self-loathing.
Things were looking up.