"Can you tell me why you suddenly realised you had to leave?" I ask, anxiously. The supermarket supervisor with the blue rinse, who's sitting behind Fripp cranes her neck over her shoulder, clearly intrigued. "It was a very, very strong personal experience," Fripp says solemnly.
"Which you want to remain personal?"
"Not especially," Fripp replies. "It's just difficult to explain without sounding like a pompous air-head and making claims that would sound more appropriate coming from a vacuous egocentric. I was a very strong personal experience - I had a glimpse of something. The last interviews I did, when Crimson broke up, I didn't know how to explain it" Fripp continues. "The top of my head blew off. That's the easiest way of describing it. And for a period of three to six months it was impossible for me to function. In a different world, with a different set of responsibilities, I would have been incapable."
"My ego went. I lost my ego for three months. We were recording 'Red' and Bill Bruford would say, 'Bob - what do you think?' And I'd say, 'Well - 'and inside I'd be thinking how can I know anything? Who am I to express an opinion? And I'd say - 'Whatever you think, Bill. Yes, whatever you like.'"
"You realise, that in our normal view of ourselves we think we're justified in having an opinion, and the simplest expression of that it can provide day-to-day friction necessary to generate any kind of activity. For instance, if I had said to you 'Allan, what do you think about the weather?' and you said to me, 'I'm a nonentity. I have no right to express a personal value judgement on the weather,' well, I'd say 'oh fine' - and walk off. You wouldn't be worth talking to. And that was roughly my situation. It took me three to six months before a particular kind of Fripp personality grew back to the degree that I could participate in the normal day-to-day business of hustling."
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