When Moe was starting to fight that cancer, I posted this tune, and she told me she liked it. I posted it because it was the track I would wear out when I was bumming. Punk didn’t come close to this. I know it’s a parable about Nixon, and it’s prog, but they didn’t miss a fucking note.
If I were in a band that made this song, it would be enough.

When I watched my mother dying of cancer, I initially thought there would be some reconciliation, or some lesson, or some new knowledge of death. But all death does is break your stupid selfishness apart and says “fuck you and every thing you think you know.”

The memory of my mother’s helplessness is still corrosive. The ending-up drugs only seemed to cart her back to the days when her father was beating the shit out of her.
There are black holes that bastards are forever working to create, and despite our best efforts we can’t stop them.

But Moe was smart. So smart, and sweet. And that’s the best armor against the many, many bad things.