Hammond B3 Organ Cistern Gabrielle Calvocoressi The days I don't want to kill myself are extraordinary. Deep bass. All the people in the streets waiting for their high fives and leaping, I mean leaping, when they see me. I am the sun-filled god of love. Or at least an optimistic under-secretary. There should be a word for it. The days you wake up and do not want to slit your throat. Money in the bank. Enough for an iced green tea every weekday and Saturday and Sunday! It's like being in the armpit of a Hammond B3 organ. Just reeks of gratitude and funk. The funk of ages. I am not going to ruin my love's life today. It's like the time I said yes to gray sneakers but then the salesman said Wait. And there, out of the back room, like the bakery's first biscuits: bright-blue kicks. Iridescent. Like a scarab! Oh, who am I kidding, it was nothing like a scarab! It was like bright. blue. fucking. sneakers! I did not want to die that day. Oh, my God. Why don't we talk about it? How good it feels. And if you don't know then you're lucky but also you poor thing. Bring the band out on the stoop. Let the whole neighborhood hear. Come on, Everybody. Say it with me nice and slow no pills no cliff no brains onthe floor Bring the bass back. no rope no hose not today, Satan. Every day I wake up with my good fortune and news of my demise. Don't keep it from me. Why don't we have a name for it? Bring the bass back. Bring the band out on the stoop. Hallelujah! -- p2: defenestrate --

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