I'm tired of being told to stay calm and carry on. This is not England, this is not World War II and the Nazis are not bombing us by night. We are fine. We don't need to calm down, we need to wake up before we really fall asleep.
And I'm tired of Robin Williams' sad eyes staring back at me, always just to the right of the article I'm reading, as if he's waiting for my attention so he can tell me to seize the day and that none of this is my fault.
I'm tired of sticky-carpeted bars with a set list at my feet and I'm tired of shiny-floored talent shows. I'm tired of people asking me when my next gig is, as if they're talking about the weather.
This stuff isn't small talk for me. This is not a hobby, nor is it a career. I don't sing songs for fun. I sing them because I must, because I have to and because I need to or else the little spark of madness sets my chest on fire and fills my head with smoke for days and bloody days and