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My Father had a profound influence on me. He was a lunatic.

I went through a period of great rebellion within my family, when I was about 9 or 10. I was mad, I had no focus, had no real interest in anything, and so I started to do things that were just rebellious and stupid.

I voluntarily inflicted a certain level of insanity on myself.

And I communed with many different faiths and even when I wanted to be rebellious I never did not believe in Him. I never believed the people who said God was destructive or punishing.

My father was a Little League dictator. That really affected me, his control-freakery, his impunity, his arbitrary unreasonable power.

I was not a particularly brave child, I think, because I had a narrative mind, because my mind automatically went to any terrible thing that could happen.

I was a strange, loud little kid who could sit at the piano and kill a Beethoven piece.

People that were in my life for a long time turned sinister and tried to control me, and all kinds of weird stuff happened. But there was no conscience involved; that threw me more than anything.

I was bold in the pursuit of knowledge, never fearing to follow truth and reason to whatever results they led, and bearding every authority which stood in their way.