Malkmus

I'm not me, I'm Stephen Malkmus. I have all those albums under my belt. I am six foot four. I am forever being driven past lunatic asylums in wooded areas that look like England during the rainy seasons. I am always stoned when this happens. I not only make and hear music but I also feel it in my body and in the air around my body. It is usually red and silver and kind of like a splatter painting that has something alive under it, making it squirm and shoot out. It is most strong when I'm stoned and being driven past those asylums. I am Stephen Malkmus and I once saw a car with a hand growing out of the bonnet firing an orange plastic machine gun.

You'll never get me because I have no definite center to my being. Sometimes my thin bloodless bowels dictate the next album; but even that is being too definite. I am far less definite than you. My memories, for instance, are not always mine, or mine for very long. I see them pass through the red and silver music like films caught in a stiff river and enter someone else's heads. I see their eyes light up, and then I wait for something really bad to happen.

Those memories maybe end up in certain places, and become compacted and static. Then those places become the memories, or a copy of them; and the people in those places feel free again, now they have a source of information about who they are and what they should do. It is what people are crying out for: to just know what to do and say.