Rat Girl

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This book is based on a diary I started when I was eighteen. Don’t know why I kept the diary for so many years; the combination of nostalgia and nausea I felt when reading it was pretty rough. I sort of held it out at arm’s length, the way you might keep the first fish you ever caught (it’s an accomplishment… it just stinks!). I do find it astonishing that, as a teenager, I was already trying to bring music and art together; a hell of a mission to take on. If Americans thought music and art belonged together, they wouldn’t have the Grammys!

I guess the diary was a bad luck charm—I really didn’t want history repeating itself. ’Cause it was certainly a strange book to pick up and read. Full of holes, it dissolved along with the drowning writer and each page was oddly like crawling in a window: you had to stand up carefully, squint, get your bearings. The diary was about a year long, from one spring to the next.

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