“Syd was so beautiful with his violet eyes. I only sort of lay beside him, nothing more could be accomplished. Then he had a breakdown and was gone. He hardly spoke. He would just tolerate me because I was so overpowered, so in awe that I didn’t really speak either. I only hung around him for two or three weeks just before he flipped and was virtually removed from the group. I knew Syd was wonderful because he wrote such wonderful songs. He didn’t have to speak because the fact that he couldn’t speak made him who he was: this person who wrote these mysterious songs. I just liked looking at him: he was very pretty. A lot of the time with pop stars, when they open their mouths, it was all completely ruined anyway. So it was perfect that he was like that. My first pop star and it was just wonderful that he didn’t speak.”—Jenny Fabian, Groupie (via painterpiperprisoner) (via badassbadger)
Zach VandeZande doesn’t want to tell you anything.
He thinks you knowing that he was born in Houston or that he has a master’s in English is dangerous, like suddenly he doesn’t own those facts anymore. But this is the bio, and this is what we do here.
Zach VandeZande is losing his hair. He slurs his words and feels thick-tongued most of the time, like language fights its way out. He’s uncomfortable in photos and in long pants. He’s working on a doctorate in English at UNT. He commutes bleary-eyed each morning, drinking corporate coffee. He is immensely disappointed that no one else is interested in his American Dream.