Rock and roll is about sex and anger and declaring that you are alive, not making your fucking grandmother smile while she knits condoms with the Pope’s face on the side. It’s the hymns for the church of booze and pills and cigarettes and orgasms I’m talking about, not some walking colostomy bag in a bad hat singing through his nose about how he’s a waste of a good womb. It’s about being an epic fucking human being.
Zen, Cathcart: Days of,