of the rapidly antiquating portion of my music collection (having been for a year and a half) I decide to petition a favor from a friend: a little portable record player for as low as the beast can let it go. A new pickaxe in the eternal dig for the elusive truth. The prospect of endless self-contained collections of time, this history spinning before me, frozen into black...
To know, and if not to know, then to at least see. To understand, and if not to understand, then to at least hear. To breathe and wax romantic about the lusty trail we've left in the dust behind us, and if not to be touched, then at least to feel. To be sure that all of perception is a dirty trick and a priceless gift.
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