Porcelain Moby

I enjoyed Moby's autobiography, which I listened to, read by the man himself, for free on Borrow Box. His turns of phrase and cadence were a little addictive and infectious for me. He's this honest, lost, pathetic, loving, hopeful creature who crawled out of poverty and into vices and festival circuits. Something/nothing/something. You could smell the vomit in his stories, see the rats, get an awkward feel of New York and 'cracked' neighbourhoods.
I didn't listen because I'm a fan, but because he had a story I liked hearing, and gave me some hope for my own creative endeavours, and my own fragile, hopeful self.