"Moving to Brighton was a brilliant idea. In my attic in Swindon, recording Faith Microwave and not speaking to anyone but my mother was no way for a twenty-two year old man to live. I was disgusted with myself. With my loneliness. With my body and it’s urges. Far too transfixed on pleasure to recognise there was a world outside of my hand and my cock. It was an awful few years. There’s a little dopamine shot you get every time you make contact, and after a while I began to depend on it. There’s an epidemic of young men masturbating themselves to an impotent grave, and no one gives a shit! When I made friends and started feeling like a person again I realised how alienating pornography is; not just from your own sexuality, or from women, or men, but from the entire world. I was barely a person. I wanted to grab all the ugliness; the homophobia, misogyny, all the grossness that came with a dependency on porn, stick it under a microscope and watch it burn! The idea lit me up! I was inspired again. I was zipping through the halls like a bat on uppers. First thing in the morning was last thing at night, and I was always the first to borrow the good microphone. All it took was an orgasm and I was free. No more lonely nights. My dainty falsetto roaring of country pies and supernatural highs. By disappearing, Joe turned my life around. Goodbye, Joe. Thanks for the music."