I can’t write poetry. I’ve tried to write it, but my efforts have always been terrible.
I can’t write music. I love music and I’m deeply moved by its magic — both words and lyrics — but I have no talent for writing songs.
I tried to write poetry and music when I was young. I even have a few samples of my attempts at verse. They’re awful but even through the awfulness of the bad art, I can feel the anguish of what I was trying to express when my pen wrote the words on paper.
For most of my life, I’ve felt a deep sense of longing. A sense of need. A panic. A fear. An emptiness that craved filling.
When I feel that — as I desperately do tonight — I feel an incredible urge to express it. My heart feels as though it’s going to explode in my chest. There’s so much I want to say — to express, to feel, to confess — and words aren’t ever enough.

My mother was more impressive than my father led me to believe
Competent, beautiful girl mirrors what I’d love to have in daughter
Insanity is part of being human – and we’re all potentially unstable
Check out Aya Katz’s interview with me about art and culture
Dear FBI, NSA and all three-letter agencies: ‘We don’t trust you guys’
Predictions of doom keep failing, so isn’t it rational to doubt them?
It’s best to focus on future, ’cause dead past is a ‘bridge to nowhere’
‘Please do not adjust your set’
Your ignored mistakes quickly become impossible to change