Lonely me, lying in a lightless room remembering our memories, i’m a pathetic painter who’s missing you; our tragic love is my only masterpiece, my heart is an art gallery filled with you // sarah, indonesia; a specialist like you
More than any other person I’ve ever interviewed, Turner is so profoundly aware of the need to express himself with precision that it occasionally seems to leave him vocally hamstrung. He stops himself, retraces his steps, leaves long gaps while searching for exactly the right metaphor.
"It’s why I don’t have Twitter," he says. "Too much pressure."
At one point, he interrupts his own disquisition on the merits of playing darts with: “Fuck it. I’m not going to bother with that. You don’t want to hear that analogy.”