All the intimacy, none of the commitment. So nice.

cannot happen on a safe stage with a curtain. Magical things can happen there, but not this. The moment of being able to say, unaccompanied by narrative: Thank you … I see you. In those moments I felt like a genie

And bit by bit, I started judging myself a little less harshly every time I looked in the mirror. The fans gave me that gift, very directly.

our time between shows had become completely consumed by emails and phone calls, trying to organize our schedule while trying to get signed. I couldn’t keep up with being the touring act and the office manager.

We weren’t in the hit business, or anywhere near it; we were in the community-art-cult-poetry-family-love business. Even the music itself was only a part of it.

Our email blasts, which I sent out every few weeks, were celebratory missives, written to our friends. I kept the tone personal: Come to a party at the house. Or come to a Dolls show at a club. Or come…

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A Productive Member Of Society in my own weird way, a Real Artist.

some paid a dollar, some paid a hundred dollars in a gesture of symbolic congratulations. It worked.

Almost every night of the tour, I did a quick busking experiment and played “Creep” by Radiohead, still the only song I knew, in the parking lot or the lobby of the venue, with a hat at my feet. I liked surprising people, and they laughed, applauded, and threw in dollars and change. The collected take from the hat went to the foundation, and there