Sometimes it feels as though I can do no right. What happened in my past lives to be cursed so? I lost a cat yesterday. I gave him everything he wanted. I gave him everything he needed and then some. It makes no sense. I can still feel him. I can still see bits of him in my vision. I can still smell him. His ears smelled like french toast sometimes. He was only about two years old. I have to remind myself that I didn't kill him. I wonder if I did perhaps by accident. I flushed my fish down the toilet a while back, but that was because I shouldn't have had them to begin with.
I thought I did pretty good with him. He was my chief officer on board my ship. The other guy was my first mate. The first mate has been promoted. I'm sure he didn't want to get his promotion that way. He keeps meowing constantly to call up the deceased. He doesn't understand that our chief officer is gone for good. I kind of don't understand it either. As soon as I touched him I knew he wasn't just sleeping. He was my cooking buddy. I'd meet him in the mess hall to talk about our course and how to squeeze a little more oomf out of the engines. He was my napping buddy too. My sleep in pal. He'd lay on my phone so I wouldn't have to hear it.
No, no, no, sweetie. Come back to me. I need you! My first mate needs you too. We had a good crew. Was the music too loud? Was the bass too heavy? Did I not keep the temperature high enough? I couldn't turn it up any higher. It made my nose bleed too much. What did I screw up? Who's going to wake me up in the morning now?
I thought about burning his body for a very long time. Give him up to the air and the stars. I'm giving him back to the city instead. It's where he came from. If I gave him to the stars, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. I am from there. He is not. He'll be home. I am glad our paths crossed. I do not know how to explain it to my first mate. If I spoke cat, I might be able to. I'm not sad. I am angry. Why didn't you tell me? Did you? Did I kill you? Involuntary manslaughter? Agent 001 Jack: K.I.A., Mr. Morton codename "Lauren": K.I.A., Chief Officer Torus: K.I.A., First Mate Boots "Hatswitch" Mustachio: T.B.D.
I am happy though. One of the last things I remember doing with him is letting him climb up my jean leg and hook his claws into my hoodie all the way up my back so he could get a good perch on my shoulder and ride around up there while I walked through the ship and pointed out the things he liked to sit on from the view of his colossus. We were a fabulous team. I thought we'd have more time to enjoy our voyage. He loved to sit in my lap while I wrote in my notebooks. He'd rub his face on the corners of the pages and make little wet nose prints on the backs of my hands and the paper.
Each week, each month, each year, I am trying to break the horse. I am trying to break myself and exercise control better than I did the year, the month, the week, before. Sometimes with success. Sometimes with failure. Some of the voices scream "somebody has to pay!!!" It is unreasonable. It is irrational. I want to cut you open so badly. I want to hook my hand into your mouth and press my fingertips underneath your tongue until the break through the skin behind your chin and rip as hard as I can and hear the sucking pop of your jaw breaking away from the rest of your skull and listen to you drown bleeding into your own esophagus. Somebody has to pay. I am trying to break that horse. I am trying not to hurt myself to show you what we want from you.
Happiness is fleeting. Pain endures. Pain is infectious as is happiness. I am not broken. I am tired of dealing with death. The horseman that rides with me. Our ghost army behind us. Having to continually modify not by choice, but necessity.
I know I have to use my words more. Not just more, but with greater frequency. I have to use art more to break the locks and the seizing to escape the killing fields. I have to pay more respect to the blast radius and recognize that it is not a game and if I take it too lightly, if I lull myself into believing it will sort itself out without careful and constant monitoring I will wake up too late and infection will spread far and wide defeating the entire purpose of closing the cycle of violence began a generation before my birth. I am trying to break myself. I am trying to limit myself. Meta-jail is real and I have to do my part too. You are there for a reason. You can manufacture happiness. The children are always present, do not listen to them, no matter what they say. While you've been ignoring it, the factory floor has been busy and now coming to that basement and seeing the stockpiles of things you only imagined existed my heart falls. Where the hell were you when the furnace fired again? Where the hell were you when the new blueprints were spread out and the flywheels started turning again? I tried. Try harder! This is not a game!
It is good that some mobility has been lost. There are those you cannot reach and it is good. It is important. Remember why you laugh, jackal. The freedoms you have were hard won, do not give them up easily. Do not give them up lazily. Take time. We have been patient and we will not shed it. A crew of two instead of three may not be so bad a thing as you imagine. The first mate will adjust and embrace his promotion, regardless of how it came about. Know that, do not say it, know it. You did not skin him. You do not wear him. He will be remembered. Bury the tools and keep an eye on us. I will. Somebody has to pay, but not today.
I took a long walk around the city. A very long walk. Control rage. You were born. Get over it. I was born on the twenty second of April in nineteen eighty five. Remember what you are doing. I was born into conflict. I was born into violence. I was born into love too. I was born onto a battlefield not of my own making and that is okay. That is alright. We learned, we grew, we got stronger, we learned how to kill and how to eat, how to feed ourselves, how to breath, how to hide, how to fight, how to see in the dark, how to trap, how to sleep, we learned and we grew. We learned our genealogy was a lost cause and our history before our time will never be mapped. We figured out the tree was a hangman's and the damage was already done well before we opened our eyes for the first time on Staten Island. We understood hunger and the sound of an empty stomach and the shiver. Do not forget the mission. Lay a road map for those that are coming after you are gone. Do not forget what it is you must fulfill. Even though your heart is kind of small you were built for something more. Embrace it. Learn the truth and love your life because you only get one shot at it.
Your shipmates will help you. Your inmates. Your internees. They will help you along the expedition through space and time. They are part of the fold, jackal. Use the words, not the weapons. The child will come and go. Supernature is simply part of the spectrum you were born with. They are not demons or angels or phantoms and errors. They are not only that, please stop crying sweetheart. You will die and you will take all of them with you and they will be gone for good too. That's okay. I don't know if Torus saw them too. I don't know if he felt them. I kissed him before I let him go. I rubbed his fur into my nostrils and ate some of his whiskers before I put him back in the trash where he came from. I hope you're happy you disparaged him saying he came from a dumpster. Pluto used to be a planet. We want to name a constellation after him.
I dislike my bad wiring so much. I know I cannot increase my strength, my power. I cannot be allowed to break down the electrified fences and razor wire atop. I cannot let it go. I cannot be allowed to make more money, it will turn into more combustion chambers, more cylinders, more lead, more trigger mechanisms, sights, and chemicals. More wires, dead man switches, boxes of nails and washers, nitrogen, ammonia, and springs. More casings and pellets and carpet knives. Bang on the left ear so it all falls out of the right ear. With greater knowledge comes greater responsibility and I am not sure I am to the task. We absolutely are. For the love of God, get the hell away from me.
Who massages your shoulders? Who plucks your eyelashes? Who sets your makeup? One gold tooth. Break that horse. Change those shoes. Wash those gloves. I need more power. No, you don't. I do! NO YOU DO NOT! Imagine the kingdom we could have. No. Do not lie to me. I am not lying.
I definitely wanted to become a musician. A composer. A librarian. To get lost in the stacks and get paid for it because alphabetical order never lies. Growing up, so many have lied to me. Washing dishes and playing the bubbles like a battlefield always put a smile on my face until standing on a milk crate on Brighton Avenue I heard them screaming at each other and I tried to wiggle my ears to remind them that I was standing there and they started to say he's listening and they took it upstairs, but I could still hear them. My nose is running again. No blood though, that's good. I haven't pissed blood in a while and that's good too. I know how it ends, I do. I am halfway home. Remind ourselves not to do anything stupid. Remind ourselves the visions are just that, visions only.
Time will fly and before we know it we'll be polishing my skull and looking at the healed fractures and running our fingertips over them like welds on an engine block trying to reverse engineer the forces and machines and hands that made them. Do you have a torque wrench? A shoeing hammer? An arc welder will do in a pinch. A continuous retrofitting. We were built for a war, but the war is over. It is not. We were built in war time and repurposed. Built not to feel. Built to not need to see. I got out. I got out. The horse must be broken. Distance must be kept. Do not lose heart. Finish the deal.
Enjoy the view from the edge of the arm of the Milky Way and do not curse Sol or Terra. Aboard the ship we are secure and secured. Take care of the equipment and don't stay long. Coexist. Someday you too will shut down, but understand there are many paths to that end and much to be explored before the channels go dead. Do not forget where you came from, do not be consumed by where you're going. I am not broken.
///Chairlift - "Guilty As Charged" ...footprints on the carpet....go on and punish me...
///El-P & Killer Mike - "Early"
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
Showing posts with label bonus track. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bonus track. Show all posts
11/4/14
9/2/14
11/3/12
Steady As She Goes
Remember what that used to mean? I do. It used to mean taking the highs and lows in stride, but not to so much the taking in stride as cutting straight though the thick of the wave and coming out the back side and surfing her straight into dusk. Straight into the fall and the winter of the upcoming crest. It used to mean a lot more than it did before it became a platitude. Not that it's a platitude now. I guess what I'm saying is that steady as she goes is a bad way to describe the circuit of this ship.
Right now, I would place it somewhere between an oxygen fire in the vacuum of space and a flat spin dizzying enough to make the sublime a Picasso'd afterthought. It's terrifying in the same way a car accident is serene in the seconds before contact, except those seconds are stretching out days instead of seconds, weeks instead of days.
Steady as she goes, though. All flame and wreck and how many souls can she bring down with her as she spirals into a sun?
It's the wanting that is tearing. Shearing bolts and bulkheads and turning bodies like soil and plow spades, succumb to forces and forced things. Do not kill. Do not see. Do not hear. The touch of force like a kiss from a stranger who knows your one sided name. And no why. No why ever offered. It's thrilling and numbing and begging.
Waiting for another break and it arrives unannounced and unheralded and reasons for people to question never come up, but choke up like a batter for an infield single and everyone sees it coming except the pitcher. It's been tough. Songs for getaway car single shot thirty minute production reels. Everyone needs commas. Everyone needs comas.
You want it both ways. I want it both ways. I want the privilege of mistake. I want the forgiveness and the forgiving to see me in the light of a human being flawed by default and on the same hand I want the respect and the conversation granted to the sound. I want what's coming to me and mine and I want to fight it at the same time. I want answers. Sometimes I can't sleep at night because I keep asking myself "why me?" I keep saying that over and over and it would be so convenient to point to some kind of god or chance or a version of determinism with some kind of optical illusion at it's end. The best I can point up is some kind of medicated psuedo goodness. Some kind of hard parsed commonality or functionality. Is that enough?
What ever is? Am I going to kill myself is a matter of convenience and circumstance. When I'm sure I'll be sure, Is all I can say I won't be able to write some kind of flowery death note. I hold my loved ones, and they do exist, no more hostage than anything or anyone else anyone or anything else can hold a thing or person dear. It burns me that things can be that simple. That simple and that hard. I guess that's what becomes what burns me so hard.
That a person can want all of the rights, all of the allowances, of personhood and still be counted as damaged and warrant of special circumstance and consideration. It boils down, a little bit, to I am just like you staring I am nothing like you dead in the face. Because I want with all of my heart to be just like you. And I know I'll never be. Do you know how special you are?
Do you know how special you are now?
How about now?
Okay, well, how about now?
///War - "Me and Baby Brother" everytime I hear this song I think of fifth grade and all the growing up I had to do and how I took my siblings for granted and how we stole from eachother constantly, but lately I think about all of our adventures and misadventures and I think if I ever have kids there will be a two head minimum because every dog may have its day, but what is a day without some belloved arse you'll be forever linked with to share it with.
///Skrillex - "Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites" ...for I am just like you...
Right now, I would place it somewhere between an oxygen fire in the vacuum of space and a flat spin dizzying enough to make the sublime a Picasso'd afterthought. It's terrifying in the same way a car accident is serene in the seconds before contact, except those seconds are stretching out days instead of seconds, weeks instead of days.
Steady as she goes, though. All flame and wreck and how many souls can she bring down with her as she spirals into a sun?
It's the wanting that is tearing. Shearing bolts and bulkheads and turning bodies like soil and plow spades, succumb to forces and forced things. Do not kill. Do not see. Do not hear. The touch of force like a kiss from a stranger who knows your one sided name. And no why. No why ever offered. It's thrilling and numbing and begging.
Waiting for another break and it arrives unannounced and unheralded and reasons for people to question never come up, but choke up like a batter for an infield single and everyone sees it coming except the pitcher. It's been tough. Songs for getaway car single shot thirty minute production reels. Everyone needs commas. Everyone needs comas.
You want it both ways. I want it both ways. I want the privilege of mistake. I want the forgiveness and the forgiving to see me in the light of a human being flawed by default and on the same hand I want the respect and the conversation granted to the sound. I want what's coming to me and mine and I want to fight it at the same time. I want answers. Sometimes I can't sleep at night because I keep asking myself "why me?" I keep saying that over and over and it would be so convenient to point to some kind of god or chance or a version of determinism with some kind of optical illusion at it's end. The best I can point up is some kind of medicated psuedo goodness. Some kind of hard parsed commonality or functionality. Is that enough?
What ever is? Am I going to kill myself is a matter of convenience and circumstance. When I'm sure I'll be sure, Is all I can say I won't be able to write some kind of flowery death note. I hold my loved ones, and they do exist, no more hostage than anything or anyone else anyone or anything else can hold a thing or person dear. It burns me that things can be that simple. That simple and that hard. I guess that's what becomes what burns me so hard.
That a person can want all of the rights, all of the allowances, of personhood and still be counted as damaged and warrant of special circumstance and consideration. It boils down, a little bit, to I am just like you staring I am nothing like you dead in the face. Because I want with all of my heart to be just like you. And I know I'll never be. Do you know how special you are?
Do you know how special you are now?
How about now?
Okay, well, how about now?
///War - "Me and Baby Brother" everytime I hear this song I think of fifth grade and all the growing up I had to do and how I took my siblings for granted and how we stole from eachother constantly, but lately I think about all of our adventures and misadventures and I think if I ever have kids there will be a two head minimum because every dog may have its day, but what is a day without some belloved arse you'll be forever linked with to share it with.
///Skrillex - "Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites" ...for I am just like you...
4/21/12
Bonus Track
///Passion Pit - "Cuddle Fuddle" ... i love you. Just in case I haven't said it enough.
... everything goes better when you're with me
... everything goes better when you're with me
4/4/12
Over The River and Through The Woods
It's been a long trip here. Back here. I should say. A lot of different pressures. A lot of losses. One of those peculiar things. Not one, several. I got dumped. Not exactly big news. I also broke up with someone. Two different people. At the same time. In the same span of conversation. And then was propositioned again. By the person I just dumped and the offspring of the person who left me. Mainly all I could think was "how is this even possible." Mainly all I could do was do nothing and ask for some time to think about the entire course of the 48 hours.
A lot of my creative time was damaged leading up to that point, which was part of why I had to leave and be let go. Part of it was biological incompatibilities. Vaginas and tiny dicks. What's a boy to do? The proposition is worse than the original make up. Better in it's emotional make up. Worse in it's biological make up, but closer to normal than the previous one, but altogether worse because the venue is the same, with the same accouterments and attendant chemical problematics and it would be so much less, if it wasn't so much more. Hours to land on the same page, hours to read each other, hours to post script to everyone's satisfaction. Hours and hours of time I would rather spend writing. Hours to spend dreaming spent instead in interaction I need, but don't want.
Tripping round and round town and all the while stalking through my own dreams when I do sleep to find the nemesis. The dreaming has been spectacular in it's depth. And also time consuming. The hunt largely unsuccessful. The body count, however, relatively high. I have found, in there, many things to fear and many things that could bleed that I never thought would until I tried in moments I would normally wake from, but instead followed on. It's hard sometimes when they're the ones hiding from you and there is nothing to do beyond waiting. Sitting and waiting to feel well enough to wake up. Charged enough to support waking hours. Pacing through dreams. I've been over the territories. Every god damn way. Without success. I'm beginning to think he won't show until I stop looking. Like those stupid Super Mario ghosts. I'll get him though. Just a matter of time. Patience.
Things have been scatter formed. Trying to get back on a pace. Any pace. I had a pace you could set an erratic watch to. A watch that was missing some teeth. And had a cracked face. And the watch band was either too tight or too loose, but you could never lose it because the minute it was not on your wrist you knew it because you didn't feel anything at all. I lost my watch. I'm finding it again and I can't fuck it up again.
I mean, I can. I will. Because I've fucked it up at least ten times before. Closer to twenty. But I'm trying. This makes twenty one. Or something around there. The quality of the poetry has been. That is all. It just has been. Not too dark, not too light. So I have to keep doing that. I just wish the erratic and hit and miss was just one long string of things I could stand next to and be proud of instead of a whole lot of things I have to read twenty four hours later to understand and begin to appreciate or begin to hate and then it's like picking up old photographs on a coffee table at grandmother's house and you scratch your chin for a minute and then think oooooh yeah, I was there, wasn't I. God damn that sweater is terrible. What was I thinking. But, damn I looked good then. I hate grandmother's house.
Over the river and through the woods, to dreamland's houses we go. Off to slay the thoughts of the day and retrace my footsteps in snow.
I'm not going to talk about my mental state. There are things in the dark and there are things in the light and all of them would kill you given the chance. Stay alert. Watch the corners. Don't point at the sky, because one day it will point back at you. Don't chase the sounds, unless they are following. Don't chase the splits in the seams of your vision, because people will think you are crazy. Don't listen to the voices. If you ignore them long enough, they'll tell you something special you wouldn't have thought about on your own. And that thing will be so amazing the only way you could relate it to someone who was not there, inside you, is by saying nothing and leaving it all up to the rattle of tree leaves and two A.M. hounds that think they are scrap metal boatswains to rails.
///Mono - "High Life" ... all you live is the high life and never come down... loved this song in high school. still do. Mono always had a sound that completely took me in and I loved them for that.
///Mono - "Life in Mono" I never know exactly what to do, but they never make it easy to walk away. Expectations too great. I want to say. And then the little voice in the back of my head whispers, maybe this is it, for now. So leave nothing on the table.
A lot of my creative time was damaged leading up to that point, which was part of why I had to leave and be let go. Part of it was biological incompatibilities. Vaginas and tiny dicks. What's a boy to do? The proposition is worse than the original make up. Better in it's emotional make up. Worse in it's biological make up, but closer to normal than the previous one, but altogether worse because the venue is the same, with the same accouterments and attendant chemical problematics and it would be so much less, if it wasn't so much more. Hours to land on the same page, hours to read each other, hours to post script to everyone's satisfaction. Hours and hours of time I would rather spend writing. Hours to spend dreaming spent instead in interaction I need, but don't want.
Tripping round and round town and all the while stalking through my own dreams when I do sleep to find the nemesis. The dreaming has been spectacular in it's depth. And also time consuming. The hunt largely unsuccessful. The body count, however, relatively high. I have found, in there, many things to fear and many things that could bleed that I never thought would until I tried in moments I would normally wake from, but instead followed on. It's hard sometimes when they're the ones hiding from you and there is nothing to do beyond waiting. Sitting and waiting to feel well enough to wake up. Charged enough to support waking hours. Pacing through dreams. I've been over the territories. Every god damn way. Without success. I'm beginning to think he won't show until I stop looking. Like those stupid Super Mario ghosts. I'll get him though. Just a matter of time. Patience.
Things have been scatter formed. Trying to get back on a pace. Any pace. I had a pace you could set an erratic watch to. A watch that was missing some teeth. And had a cracked face. And the watch band was either too tight or too loose, but you could never lose it because the minute it was not on your wrist you knew it because you didn't feel anything at all. I lost my watch. I'm finding it again and I can't fuck it up again.
I mean, I can. I will. Because I've fucked it up at least ten times before. Closer to twenty. But I'm trying. This makes twenty one. Or something around there. The quality of the poetry has been. That is all. It just has been. Not too dark, not too light. So I have to keep doing that. I just wish the erratic and hit and miss was just one long string of things I could stand next to and be proud of instead of a whole lot of things I have to read twenty four hours later to understand and begin to appreciate or begin to hate and then it's like picking up old photographs on a coffee table at grandmother's house and you scratch your chin for a minute and then think oooooh yeah, I was there, wasn't I. God damn that sweater is terrible. What was I thinking. But, damn I looked good then. I hate grandmother's house.
Over the river and through the woods, to dreamland's houses we go. Off to slay the thoughts of the day and retrace my footsteps in snow.
I'm not going to talk about my mental state. There are things in the dark and there are things in the light and all of them would kill you given the chance. Stay alert. Watch the corners. Don't point at the sky, because one day it will point back at you. Don't chase the sounds, unless they are following. Don't chase the splits in the seams of your vision, because people will think you are crazy. Don't listen to the voices. If you ignore them long enough, they'll tell you something special you wouldn't have thought about on your own. And that thing will be so amazing the only way you could relate it to someone who was not there, inside you, is by saying nothing and leaving it all up to the rattle of tree leaves and two A.M. hounds that think they are scrap metal boatswains to rails.
///Mono - "High Life" ... all you live is the high life and never come down... loved this song in high school. still do. Mono always had a sound that completely took me in and I loved them for that.
///Mono - "Life in Mono" I never know exactly what to do, but they never make it easy to walk away. Expectations too great. I want to say. And then the little voice in the back of my head whispers, maybe this is it, for now. So leave nothing on the table.
9/17/11
Post Nine One One
I've been pretty dark, post 9/11. Hopefully, understandably so. It's been difficult to remember how to have fun, or that having fun is essential to being.
I won't tell you that it can't rain all the time because, in fact, it can and it does. You would be a fool to never throw a poncho and an umbrella in your ruck. You'd be a fool to go out when the hail stones are larger than your fist. A fool to believe if you train hard enough you can vault any fence, scale any wall, and leap any crevasse if you simply will with all the strength in your bones. It's a uniquely American fallacy that if you want it with enough of your heart it can be made real.
The fact is life is pretty damn unkind and there is no insurance policy available to make the check cashers pay for what they dupe the writers into signing.
So, in light of that, and in light of the fact that I've been a pretty dark human being, I am dedicating some of today to having fun. Forgetting is impossible. Those years are tattooed on me. Tattooed on my bones. They will always be with me and they will find their own way to the surface of my skin whether I like it or not. I will have to scrub and scrub to get the cells off of me week after week and month after month and they will seep out again against raw flesh and needle their way into the fabric of what I make with no desire to cause and no avenue to prevent.
But, damn it all, it is Saturday and for once I don't have to work to pay the bills and slot the tokens and I am determined to sing a little and let one of the voices in my head be my own falsetto, cigaretted, malt liquored, boom and bipped, hymn for a little while. Get live. There's only so much fun to be had poking a corpse.
///Eagle Eye Cherry - "Shooting Up In Vain" The film Go changed my life, but not from the perspective of life changing activities, because that was not unfamiliar to me, but from the perspective of music. I heard so many sounds I'd heard before, but in a way so far removed from what I was used. Amazing film. Far and away one of the most solid soundtracks ever collected. Bonus track? Hell yeah:
///Left Field - "Swords" ...oh with my sword at my side... listen to this on a rainy night. Cue it up right around a lonely midnight. You won't regret it.
I won't tell you that it can't rain all the time because, in fact, it can and it does. You would be a fool to never throw a poncho and an umbrella in your ruck. You'd be a fool to go out when the hail stones are larger than your fist. A fool to believe if you train hard enough you can vault any fence, scale any wall, and leap any crevasse if you simply will with all the strength in your bones. It's a uniquely American fallacy that if you want it with enough of your heart it can be made real.
The fact is life is pretty damn unkind and there is no insurance policy available to make the check cashers pay for what they dupe the writers into signing.
So, in light of that, and in light of the fact that I've been a pretty dark human being, I am dedicating some of today to having fun. Forgetting is impossible. Those years are tattooed on me. Tattooed on my bones. They will always be with me and they will find their own way to the surface of my skin whether I like it or not. I will have to scrub and scrub to get the cells off of me week after week and month after month and they will seep out again against raw flesh and needle their way into the fabric of what I make with no desire to cause and no avenue to prevent.
But, damn it all, it is Saturday and for once I don't have to work to pay the bills and slot the tokens and I am determined to sing a little and let one of the voices in my head be my own falsetto, cigaretted, malt liquored, boom and bipped, hymn for a little while. Get live. There's only so much fun to be had poking a corpse.
///Eagle Eye Cherry - "Shooting Up In Vain" The film Go changed my life, but not from the perspective of life changing activities, because that was not unfamiliar to me, but from the perspective of music. I heard so many sounds I'd heard before, but in a way so far removed from what I was used. Amazing film. Far and away one of the most solid soundtracks ever collected. Bonus track? Hell yeah:
///Left Field - "Swords" ...oh with my sword at my side... listen to this on a rainy night. Cue it up right around a lonely midnight. You won't regret it.
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