“When listening to the sound material, we metamorphose the inside into an outside.”

This notion of metamorphosis is one of the principles that leads the course of the musical suite, reflecting changes (fluidsolid passages: water/ice/fire) or movements (ebb/flow/wave, inspiration/expiration) or inside-outside passages (door/individual/crowd).

I do consider sounds as living things.

Thus, the perceived object is not entirely what we would have liked it to be. Our music brings us closer to some while it takes us away from others: each with their own inside.

I arrived home the other day, and it was just pouring rain out side so buy the time I get from the car to the front door I am soaked.

Of course, I would like to play the guy next door, but nobody’s going to hire me for that kind of role.

I wrapped a towel around me and I opened the door, and then I splish, splash, I jumped back in the bath. Well, how was I to know there was a party going on?

The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love, instead, see all of us as one.

I just hope bluegrass entertainers take care of their music and take care of their fans. If you don’t practice, the man next door who is practicing will beat you.

Seth put his ear against the door. “I can’t hear anything.” “There are probably ten of them patiently waiting on the far side, ready to pounce.” Brownies are shrimps.

I write with a Uni-Ball Onyx Micropoint on nine-by-seven bound notebooks made by a Canadian company called Blueline. After I do a few drafts, I type up the poem on a Macintosh G3 and then send it out the door.

This building we’re in has doors and windows. If we close the doors and windows, we can’t get out.