I Was In A Crazy, Private, Awesome

When You Say Something Or Sing Something Enough Times, It Becomes A Self-fulfilling Prophecy. It's Almost Like Casting Spells. I Don't Mean Necessarily In The Flighty, 'i'm Going To Go Buy A Cloak With A Hood Now' Way.

Because There's Just So Much In A Day Now, I Keep Writing In Much More Abstract Terms, Like I Don't Try To Write About What Happened Anymore. It Would Be Impossible.

I'm In The Countryside Outside Of Paris, In A Beautiful Old Manor House. The Studio Is In The Basement, But We Decided To Set Everything Up In The Old Parlor And Dining-room Area So We Can Look At Each Other And (at) The Sunshine Coming Through The Stained-glass Windows. It's Pretty Idyllic, And I Think It's Spoiling Me. I'll Have To Go Back To Regular Life After This.

I Didn't Really Get London Until I Read Dickens. Then I Was Charmed To Death By It.

I Had To Let Myself Imagine A Calendar With No Lines; When Every Single Day Is Being Predetermined Six Months In Advance, There's No More Fluidity To Time.