Forget Magazine. Remember, Remember, Remember.

This is dedicated to discovery. To knowing what is lost. To fighting to get back. This is dedicated to sleepers. To nighttime. To honesty. To passionate you. To giving up. To aggression, to defense. To the absent wonder of the sudden pariah. To children that make you cry. To high white noise, dying all the way up. To paranoia. To restless mornings. To excuses. To reasons. To bp Nichol. To knowing why. To starting at less than zero. To the spilling of wine. To blood. To luck. To the night when my bone is pierced by arrows. To them that feed upon me. To them that do not sleep. To understanding you have everything. To grace. To power. To talent. To knowing you have nothing. This is dedicated to the past. To gaining. To your trust. To daily. To goodbye. To mystique. To that thing only we can do. To us. To the present. To the reason to cover your eyes. To the bad men who love Jesus. To the plan. To the drone of sullen music. To the body. To the sweetness of life. To the end, not near —KJB.

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