Q: If you had 10 minutes alone in a room with the president, what would you do?
A: I don’t think he’s bright enough to understand anything I’d have to say, but I’d talk to him. Don’t you think there should be a law that you can’t have control of nuclear weapons unless you can pronounce the word nuclear? But he’s not really the problem, he’s just a hood ornament. The guys running the engine are the problem. That’s what the song “What Are Their Names?” is about—we don’t even know the names of the people who are really running the world, the people in control of the major corporations.

Q: What could you buy with all the money you spent on drugs in your life?
A: A large ranch. I’m sure I spent $10 million, but it coulda been 15. The time I wasted is way more valuable than the money, though. Time really is the final currency.

Q: We hear that sentiment a lot. Is rehab culture now more dominant than drug culture?
A: There were people who were genuinely looking to get sober, then in Hollywood, as with everything, it became fashionable to go through that process. Some people probably did it who didn’t need to, others got help who really did need it. But it must be working—I know exactly one guy in the world who does hard drugs now, and I know thousands of people.

Q: What advice do you have for Pete Doherty?
A: I don’t really have any, and he wouldn’t listen to it anyway. He’ll reach the bottom and he’ll either want to fix himself up or he won’t. There isn’t anything I can do about it.

Q: Are you amazed you’re still alive?
A: Sure. I don’t know anybody who did what I did and lived. They must have more work for me to do here. Sometimes I get survivor guilt, too. I think about Hendrix or Joplin and other friends of mine and wonder, Why them and not me?

Q: What is the most misunderstood thing about the sixties?
A: That they happened in the seventies.