“Failure is the new success.”
— Phil Volatile
“America—where we hate our fathers, love our mothers, andeveryone is hung up on tryingto be a man”
— Phil Volatile
“We had scar-tissueromance and ours wasa relationship of sayinggoodbye—every timewe fought, every timewe fucked, and every timewe called it quits, beforepicking up our knivesagain”
— Phil Volatile
“Now I’msober and Irealize, Ididn’t drink toescape the world,I drank to escapemyself”
— Phil Volatile
“I pawned the remote to my misery,trading it in for liquor that was cheap;screwdrivers for my vitamin c,and a little bloodstream to my IV,helping to soothe my lunacy”
— Phil Volatile
“I traded in myfreedom fora needy, whinyand defiantfour-year-old,a junky girlfriend,and a relationshipriddled withsomeone else’sproblemsNow, I stareout of openwindows likea wild mustangcraving openfieldsI clench mycrotch, wheremy ballsused to be,and I hum aloathsome tune,like an out-of-work castratowho’s realized his dreams of someday having his own familyare gone”
— Phil Volatile
“It’s sadthat burnt marshmallowsmake me think ofmethamphetamine,when theyshould bringback childhoodmemories ofs’mores”
— Phil Volatile
“Too many codeine pills,Too many nights of cold chillsToo many weak-handed dealsToo many lives, the addict steals”
— Phil Volatile
“We aim to bemen who’ll makeour mothers proud,but we end upmaking them cry,and are onlyslightly betterthan our fathers,at best”
— Phil Volatile
“Because any guilt the sizeof a speck of dust, or shame,can crush even the best of men,in mountains of weight”
— Phil Volatile
“Some days I’mtrying to forcea smile sohard it feelslike I mightshit my pants”
— Phil Volatile
“When I was achild my worldwasn’t blackand white,it was grey,until I gotbeat upenough timesto realizemy skin wasbeige, anddifferent”
— Phil Volatile
“I can remember whendelusions of grandeur entailed wanting tobe a rock star, movie star,a millionaire; to make itas a writer—now it seems that it’sto want to earn adecent living”
— Phil Volatile
“We should’ve thrown fucking riots the first time they had us ring up and bag our owngroceries”
— Phil Volatile
“He was tiredof being calleda fag and teasedfor his sexualityby one of the guards,so he tried to hanghimself, twiceThe kid got a littlecloser the secondtime, but I won’t bearound to see athird”
— Phil Volatile
“Love, is a Bloody Razor BladeLove came like fire from aboveand disappeared like a wet dream,underneath a leaky kitchen sinkFor weeks it went drip, drip, drip…until it could be, eventually fixedIt took a long time to depreciateall the things I never had to sayBut there are only so many things that make sense at the endThe rest is merely X-Acto knife love, andLove, is a bloody razor blade”
— Phil Volatile
“What simple andordinary lives we live,underneath the shadowsof projection screenartists”
— Phil Volatile
“When Pisces go to war, there’s never a shortage of broken hearts.”
— Phil Volatile
“I’m in love with my corporate girlfriend,with the Cyclops heart”
— Phil Volatile
“Some people are hard to forget, but some people are hard to remember.”
— Phil Volatile
“to live asubstance-freelife under thepressures ofthe daily grindis state-sponsoredsuicide”
— Phil Volatile
“I hate forcing myself to go to bed to avoid committing suicide.”
— Phil Volatile
“And these are the sametype of people who killthe innocent andjustify it by saying“They’ve gone to bewith Jesus now”But we won’t talkabout how theycrucified Him, too”
— Phil Volatile
“Maybe someday I can find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but will lack the strength to lift it anymore. Then, I will think to empty the coin from the pot, but will lack the genius to carry out the said act. Later, I will be approached by someone who will ask me about the story of the pot of gold. I will attempt to explain the story to them in the best way that I can.The person might then ask me, “How much of it was true?” and to them I shall respond with a question.“How much do you have believed of it to be of truth and be not farce?” They will ponder over what has been asked of them. They will solemnly look first to the ground, and then to the sky, seeking the divine answer to disarm, or perhaps the answer to their own question. After much time spent rehearsing the question and answer in their head, they will have finally reached the answer.“Half—half of it I believe were true.” They will say to me with complete confidence, and then that confidence will subside assertively into a question. Feeling flustered and unsure of themselves, with their face representing melting wax, they will again look to me for an answer.“Half of it was true then,” I will reply to them with my assertiveness. Puzzled and dumbfounded, the person will ask me, “How was half of it true then?”I will reply to this person in a sincere attempt to gain their confidence and instill wisdom in them.“I cannot tell you what is right or wrong, only what I think is right or wrong. If you believe that half were true, then half were true. If you believe that all of it lies in truth, then all of it were divinely true. If you find that it is absurd and could not share any truth, then there be no truth in the matter. It is your perception that has brought you to your conclusion, not mine. For clearly, if you are thinking about what be true and what be not true, then I have done my job in giving you something to think about, but I cannot think or decide for you.”
— Phil Volatile
“When I think about the past and how blind I was in that life, I compare it to being a god and losing everything when being cast out. I had the unlimited power to destroy myself and everything around me. It’s like having been in a cave for years and I’m finally out of the cave. The sun burns my eyes and skin. I don’t recognize my surroundings. No one looks authentic, and now I’m on the hunt for people that have the pieces to my puzzle that will help me on my quest. I have no cave to hide in, and I’m just left with the sediment of a previous life and my own mortality.”
— Phil Volatile
“And somewhereout there,in the river ofaddicts, alcoholics,wife beaters,doormats,overeducated legalized thieves,fascist police,and bitter rivalries—someone told meit’s a good city,and I don’t knowwhat’s more frightening”
— Phil Volatile
“It was the most beautiful moment that was so perfect you felt like you could just die. It was like the first time you ever heard Dido and Aeneas’ “When I am laid in earth.” A moment so pure you feel like you’re dreaming and begin to question your own mortality that could be capable of and rival such innocent beauty.”
— Phil Volatile
“I talk about writing and write so much because aside from music, it’s the only thing giving me peace and reason and purpose. Everyone is looking for answers but I don’t have them and I’m not the answer, but I feel like if I could see the face of God, I’d be better, healed—absolved. I feel like a bastard and like I’m pushing a Ponzi scheme every time someone comes to me for guidance and I push them to the “right” path when I’m just as lost as they are. And it makes me feel like shit every time someone wants to look up to me, or when people call me strong or brave or amazing or want to tell me how “great” I am. And then, the next moment, I’m fine, until the next tide of emotion comes again. I’m just a person who’s had a lot of time to think—a flawed and fucked-up person.”
— Phil Volatile
“Fear is the vehicle in which love can do its worst.”
— Phil Volatile
“Two kinds ofpeople will love you:those who confessit, and those whoshow you, likecards on a table,because love isa gamble”
— Phil Volatile