“Each note is inscribed on a sugarcube lodged in the hoof of a rabid pig.”

“Want a sugarcube?”

“Travis: The Aphrodite kids were ripping each other’s clothes and throwing lipstick and jewellery. It was like a rabid herd of wild Bratz.”

“I bless the hoss from hoof to head -From head to hoof, and tale to mane! -I bless the hoss, as I have said,From head to hoof, and back again!”

“History, lie of our lives, mire of our loins. Our sins, our souls. Hiss-tih-ree: the tip of the pen taking a trip of three steps (with one glide) down the chronicle to trap a slick, sibilant character. Hiss. (Ss.) Tih. Ree.He was a pig, a plain pig, in the morning, standing five feet ten on one hoof. He was a pig in slacks. He was a pig in school. He was a pig on the dotted line. But in my eyes it’s always the ones signing dotted lines that become pigs.Did this pig have a precursor? He did, indeed he did. In point of fact, dating all the way back to the Biblical Age. Oh where? About everywhere you look there's pigs giving that fancy ol’ snake a chase. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can always count on a fuckin’ pretentious sarcastican for a fancy prose style.”

“I like living, breathing better than working...my art is that of living. Each second, each breath is a work which is inscribed nowhere, which is neither visual nor cerebral, it's a sort of constant euphoria.”