alice . in . chains
“Hey, I ain’t never coming home
Hey, I’ll just wander my own road
Hey, I can’t meet you here tomorrow
Say goodbye don’t follow
Misery so hollow
Hey you, you’re livin’ life full throttle
Hey you, pass me down that bottle, yeah
Hey you, you can’t shake me round now
I get so lost and don’t know how, yeah
And it hurts to care, I’m going down
Forgot my woman, lost my friends
Things I’d done and where I’ve been
Sleep in sweat the mirrors cold
See my face it’s growin’ old
Scared to death no reason why
Do whatever to get me by
Think about the things I said
Read the page it’s cold and dead
Take me home”
Four things essential for my sanity, in no particular order:
– Paintbrushes and canvas and wood
– Pen and paper
Right now I have two of four. As a consequence, I am precisely 50% sane.
I have been called a “genius” to my face more times than I can count. Counselors, I.Q. test administrators, relatives, child psychologists, blah, blah. Aside from the fact that it puts one in an impossible, awkward situation (what in god’s name do you say in response?), they’re all lost. Genius is in motivation. I have none.
The rest is nothing more than masturbation.
I am not a genius, I am a nihilist. I make a good priest, not a good luminary.