The sad fact of the matter is, _______, I will never love anything as much as I loved Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close when I read it for the first time. I will not be equally happy, in proportion or sincerity, as the first time I heard the key change in Wolf Parade’s “Modern World”. I will never be as excited as the first time I rode through a mountain and called a friend who had never left the state just to let him feel what I felt. And there will never be such solitude, such purity or peace, as at 3am, when I am holed up in a dirty garrett or basement or underneath a table with nothing but a pen or a word processor. Which is not to say, stop trying. These are just facts. Facts.
About passion, about art, about life, about excitement, about happiness