Shiny metal capsule, man-made vitamin cure-all, explosive nugget of death. It is golden, it is hard, it is unsuspecting death. Grim reaper shows up and hangs around all over America. More than Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny combined. Except when you die, you don’t rise up again like Christ. You stay down. In your tomb. King Tut and the Egyptians didn’t have AK-47s. Imagine if they did. They would still be around today and I would be writing something way different in hieroglyphics. Money as power, violence as power, death as power. But power changes hands, priorities change. I suggest listening to Oso Oso to cultivate some dreg of inner peace. Start there. Podcast history. What to do when the internet fails? I hope that never happens. What if the things we put so much faith in and hold so close to our hearts disappear forever beyond our control? Digital hoarding. Late night television laugh track. Running around in circles listening to Sunny Day Real Estate. Jeremy Enigk as patron saint and voice and spokesperson of the angels. Car dealer marathon. How long can we go without pulling our hair out? Dancing with the comb as my microphone in the mirror. These are pure things, pure memories I like to think everyone has done. Burgers on the grill flaming up. Gun violence.