FORGIVING THE LONG WALKABOUTS, RELIVING THOSE LONG TALKSALOTS THAT NEVER OFFERED UPSHOT. ITÆS BEEN LODGED IN OUR THROATS AND ITÆS THE LAST TIME WE CAN SPIT IT. THE FACE OF EVERY SIREN, SOUNDLESS, IN AWE. THERE WAS A TIME WHEN GUIDANCE WAS SELFLESS. TOMORROW NEVER TOLD HER SECRET UNLESS YOU WERE ABLE TO GET A FEW DRINKS IN THE OLD BROAD. ITÆS BEEN FLUNG FROM OUR THROATS AND ITÆS THE FIRST TIME WE CANÆT TASTE IT. THE FACE OF EVERY SIREN, STRICKEN, ALARMED. STEP THE STAIRS, RUNG THE LADDER. IÆLL TAKE THE LATTER. THE FOREST IS PACKED, A BARRAGE OF BEARS COULDNÆT PICK UP THE SLACKERS. THEY FIRED AND HIRED, INSPIRED, BUT THE MAULING WAS FLEETING AND GANGLY AND TIRED. A LOT OF SPAT ABOUT LOSING OUR VOICES, VERY NEGLECTFUL FOR WE ALWAYS FOUND A VOICE. AUTOETHNOGRAPHY, EITHER A BOOK ON TAPE OR A TAPE ON BOOK. DUST WIND DUDE. STRIKES AND GUTTERS. STOMP THE STAIRS. RING THE LADDER. AS OUR VOICES BECOME THE FACE OF EVERY SIREN, SOLEMN, UNDONE. ONE IF BY LAND, TWO IF BY SEA, THE DEATH OF ME. I SAT BESIDE MYSELF, ALONE WITH MY CONSCIENCE. THIS WILL BE THE ONLY SCIENCE IÆLL HAVE LEFT TO SIT BESIDE ONCE THE CURTAINÆS CLOSED. WELL, THE PLAY WENT WELL. IT HAD THE AUDIENCE UP OUT OF THEIR NOSEBLEED SEATS. THE SKULL OF YORICK. HURLING ROSES. MEMENTO MORI, THIRSTY FOR SOME HARDCORE ENCORE. SURELY THIS MUST BE THE DEATH OF ME. THIS LIFE BE DEATH.