I am not a finished poem, and I am not the song you’ve turned me into. I am a detached human being, making my way in a world that is constantly trying to push me aside, and you who send me letters and emails and beautiful gifts wouldn’t even recognise me if you saw me walking down the street where I live tomorrow for I am not a poem. I am tired and worn out and the eyes you would see would not be painted or inspired but empty and weary from drinking too much at all times and I am not the life of your party who sings and has glorious words to speak for I don’t speak much at all and my voice is raspy and unsteady from unhealthy living and not much sleep and I only use it when I sing and I always sing too much or not at all and never when people are around because they expect poems and symphonies and I am not a poem but an elegy at my best but unedited and uncut and not a lot of people want to work with me because there’s only so much you can do with an audio take, with the plug-ins and EQs and I was born distorted, disordered, and I’m pretty fine with that, but others are not.
When an actor has money he doesn't send letters, he sends telegrams.
I am repeating the facts and the facts are I did not send nor did I receive material marked classified.
Great hearts steadily send forth the secret forces that incessantly draw great events.
SPAM is taking e-mail, which is a wonderful tool, and exploiting the idea that it's very inexpensive to send mail.
Napoli wanted to send me to Rubin Kazan, and I knew nothing about it.
Room service? Send up a larger room.
I started with a website, Jasonmraz.com, pre-YouTube. You could e-mail me directly, and I would send you a CD.