I remember my mother finding mud somehow and putting it on the sting.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Sting was one of my first and biggest influences. One night in North Carolina, when I reached out and touched his shoulder, he had the face paint on, and I didn't know why, but I loved it. I wanted to be just like him, and I was only 11 years old.
I had been found in a mud puddle at 4:30 in the morning.
You just remember back when you were watching as a kid and going, 'Man, Sting's so cool,' and now I'm wrestling the guy. It's breathtaking.
I was at Woodstock. In the mud.
In Salford, we had fish in our tap water. I remember, one hot summer day, running to the toilet at playtime and dunking our heads in a sink full of water. I remember putting my head in and seeing all these little fish in it.
I remember, when I was a kid, watching my mother jam herself into her girdle - a piece of equipment so rigid it could stand up on its own - and I remember her coming home from fancy parties and racing upstairs to extricate herself from its cruel iron grip.
Drown in a cold vat of whiskey? Death, where is thy sting?
My earliest childhood memory is watching the sunlight through a jar of amber full of wasps.
I remember myself, age five, sitting on a porch overlooking a very muddy road. The day was rainy. I was wearing rubber boots, yellow - no, not yellow, green - and for all I know, I'm still there.
I have friends who remember seeing fish hauled onto a boat's deck and beaten to death.