Got post-apocalyptic in a prophetic fit. You can keep your profits and your pills, I never wanted either of them, just the comforts of a home, meager and communal, maybe a cat and definitely a garden. I’d like to keep feeding musicians, be a good host first and foremost. I found a love worth growing in, not falling this time. I felled myself this time, and this time, time is c r e e p i n g, moving on at the slowest pace I’ve ever seen and heard or imagined. I tried to explain E=mc^2 waving my hands in the air (delusions of grandeur?). Who am I? We have time travel because we can move fast or slow; that’s the only note I should have tried to unravel.