I forgot. I forgot. There's a war. There's all those things I said and did, but I still dig, unironically, elevator music, or the cheesiest 1950s tiki. Half-Whitest Wannabe Jazz Enthusiast innocently appropriating joy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. There's a war. There's an endless culture of consumption of which i find myself embedded, but I must head to joy, whenever, wherever, or find myself indulging in murkier depths of idiot longing. Please.