Before I let you in, There’s just one thing I wanna say. There's no need to pretend, That this will end another way. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and be on your way, Forget all the things you say tonight.

That's why I’m caught up in a one night love affair. Hoping true love will find me there. You see, I’m caught up in a one night love affair. In need of love again, that's just the way I am.

So make yourself at home. I want to want you for a while. I haven’t got much time, to find the man behind the smile.

I’m a fairytale princess, in search of a knight. And I never believe dreams come true. I’m just like you. You see...

I’m Caught Up - (In a One Night Love Affair)- Inner Life.

(N.B Hover your cursor and zoom out twice. You won’t regret it x )

Don’t put me on hold please. Don’t put me on hold please. Don’t put me on hold please. Fly here and hold me.

He doesn’t call me, so put me through Operator. Maybe I’ll leave him, and fall in love with you, Operator.

Operator - Lapsley. (incidentally) Every text that I write, should be introduced with the word Incidentally.

Maybe italicised? Incidentally…

Yeah. Acknowledgements.

I haven’t really ever believed in the sincerity of ‘acknowledgements’. Recently, I wrote an Instagram ‘Bio’ in this vein

Dedicated to our Mam, Who hates social media, And will never see the value Of this inherently selfish act.

I’ve deleted Instagram. I’m trying to be less cynical, So here goes.

To my Mam and Dad: Thank you for putting up with me clinging to the nest for far too long And for your perpetual support.

To Jack: Thank you for being my soundboard and my ground, & for accepting that our conversations will probably be written up, & not being precious about it & for sending me bands that I ignore and then act like I’ve discovered them months later. I love you.

To Rene: Thank you for being literally the best person I’ve ever met.

To Mr. Craig: Thank you for sparking, nurturing and encouraging my love of language, & for helping me see that it is more interesting to situate yourself in the ques- tion, than to seek solutions.

To My Dads best man ‘uncle’ Paul for telling me I should do something with my memory for song lyrics.

And my Grandad Terry (Tel Boy). I always said you should write pet. Buckle up, here we go!

Well I don’t like talking to myself, but someones got to say it, Hell That’s just the way that I Feel - Purple Mountains. Is that my Echo?

Piano & a Microphone was a demo album recorded by Prince in 1983 and released posthumously in 2018. In the first track, 17 Days, he adressess his audio engineer, with the words:

Is that my echo?... Give me the straighter one.

In 2016, Kanye West released Ultralight Beam. Three and a half God was dead: to begin with. minutes in, he proclaims:

Ali Smith- The Accidentals. ​ This is my part, nobody else speak.

Lowering his voice, mimicking the effect of an echo, he repeats the line once more.

This is my part, nobody else speak.

This little light of mine, Glory be to God, yeah. Read the way in which I write as poetic and lyrical. No. Sorry, that’s crass. (just try to ok??) I use the form (visual structure?) of poetry, Or song lyrics, In the same way that I’d use a semicolon. At once, self-conscious that it’s not right, Anticipating the reader, Sometimes, Laughing at my own desire to be ‘clever’, the realisation Yet equally reluctant to leave it out, that I’m eating In the hope, the flesh of an animal, In the good faith makes me physically That I might have an accommodating reader, gag. Or that this time, I’ve got it right, Sometimes And Oh! How intelligent I’d sound! I’ll devour Or, a whole Maybe, packet of ham, I hope the reader recognises the attempt, without a second And is not quite sure thought. How to use a semicolon either, and, I feel the same way about Art. As such, might see such a use As a valiant attempt... Good on you! They’d shout, As our hands clap together, in a high five, across the ether. You could never know what it's like, Your blood like winter freezes just like ice, And there's a cold lonely light that shines from you. You'll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use I’m Still Standing - Elton John Preface.

I’m aware that my writing is: I could imagine someone, Overdone, Maybe grandchildren, Overcooked, Discovering the tapes in years time. Overstuffed. Instead, My recordings, If I cant settle one word, Were flotsam and jetsam I’ll use two or three. On my soon to be obsolete device.

As much as I hate ‘academic’ texts, It might here be observed that, Or more accurately, overtly ‘academic’ texts, I still wanted to elevate my voice, With the subtext: Beyond the ‘ordinary’. ‘You have to be initiated to understand this’ Was that indeed, I can’t escape from the desire to sound intelligent. So different, From the reason I had stopped writing, And as much as I long to write, In the first place? In a way that could be described as: ‘lean, athletic prose’ In time, I end up over-complicating what should be My voice notes too, simple. Began to feel Contrived. MISSING: the point! As my sense of myself talking to an ‘audience’ For a long while, Was sharpened. For the above reasons The desire to say something: (and a few more) Witty I stopped writing. Intelligent, (with a healthy dose of self-deprecation) I’m better at speaking than writing Slipped in again. I would say. Instead of writing, I would dictate voice notes, Self-deprecation, On my phone. A man at Academic Support told me, And for a time, Was really quite annoying; I coveted an analogue Dictaphone. I should stop. Recording into tape, I felt, You start a conversation you can't even finish it You're talking a lot, but you're not saying anything Would be much more romantic, When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed More permanent, Say something once, why say it again? Psycho Killer Talking Heads. 4 sentences.

I’m not a sculptor, or a painter, or a film maker.

No. It is insufficient to define myself by what I am not.

Self- deprecation is annoying.

It’s not about finding your way out of the trap, it’s about identifying the trap that you find yourself in (and badly paraphrasing more intelligent peoples words).

4 sentences that describe my practice.

I am a writer who largely avoids (avoided) words.

My installations are structured similarly to how I would write a text (the same structuring principles... or lack of?!).

I work with material languages (weak?).

I question how language is transformed by different technologies (vague.)

I use found material.

That’s five points, six sentences.

-I’m. -Shit. -At. -Editing.

The mirror stares you in the face And says: "Baby, uh, uh. It don’t work” Boogie Wonderland. Earth Wind and Fire Is that my Echo? In Episode 1, Series 4 of Revisionist History published 27 June 2019, Mal- colm Gladwell sets out to examine the American Law School Admissions Introducing the 2011 publication of Tove Johannsen’s 1987 Travelling Test, ‘Standardised Testing’ and more broadly the idea of a ‘meritocracy’ Light, Ali Smith writes: which is so central to American identity (The American Dream). Prepar- ing for and taking the test with his assistant Camille, he observes that the What this story reveals is that there is no such thing as disconnection; and it Admissions Test (from which selection to the top universities is largely based) favours the ‘hare’: those who can work at speed. When we decide who does this in its very form, not just the funny, sad unfolding of its plot. ‘Believe is smart enough to be a lawyer, we use a stop watch (Gladwell). me, you can’t imagine my giddy sense of freedom’. In the very act of announc- ing how determined he is to go solo, this man is already accompanied - by ‘you’, Gladwell seeks ‘coaching’ for the test. Dan Edmonds, who works for a in other words, us listening to him. Tove Jansson’s slight of hand means that start up called Noodle (Helping Parents Make Better Education Decisions) in his freedom- and our own is already disturbingly and laughingly compromised. New York briefs him:

A lot of it is about helping people to understand that they don’t get to do this at a ---- comfortable speed… which means you have to hone your instincts by the test rules, not by your rules….I don’t even aim for a level of what we would normally call ‘compre- hension’… I am out to process the information not understand it. I don’t get any points Ben commented that my installation read like a ‘tableau’, for understanding it… there’s no meander time. In other words ‘flat’. Had I intended that? In Part II of the podcast, The Tortoise and the Hare, Gladwell points out that In truth, no, but I had tried moving things around and it didn’t feel right, if the test was changed, not only would the lovely bell curve (which allows It! Felt! Like! I! Was! Putting! Exclamation! Marks! After! Every! Word! the top universities to distinguish students) be destroyed, but an upturn Yet he was making a really good point cheers Ben I know youre reading I would simply favour ‘Tortoises’ over ‘Hares’ ...and we still need hares; we had wanted everything to sit laterally and be of equal significance like it still need people who can work at speed. was in my head but that was like writing a book with no punctuation. Gladwell moves away from the test and looks to the wider structures and Tread the middle ground. beliefs which not only support but reinforce the ideal of ‘speed’. A tenet stripped from its origin in eastern religion and philosophy and now absorbed into Western therapeutic discourse. Evan Parker, is a statistician, who analyses who is performing well in the top law firms in America. Through his work (with multiple data points I needed to bring my reader in. regressions, algorithms) he identifies that indeed the top law firms do not hire those who ultimately perform the best. Instead, he tells Gladwell:

----- You end up selecting people who are like you, not people who are like the successful attorneys at your firm. You know… my colleague has called it the Mirror-tocracy. Alex Clarke: How about you put parentheses around separate ideas to delineate them? A mirror-tocracy, or a meritocracy?

What if the test was devised by people who were (paid to be) great at edit- ( ing, in a institution that favours exclamation marks?(!) hypothetically ) His name was Rico, He wore a diamond, He was escorted to his chair, He saw Lola dancing there, And when she finished, He called her over, But Rico went a bit too far, Tony sailed across the bar, And then the punches flew, And chairs were smashed in two, There was blood and a single gunshot, But just who shot who?

Copacabana (At the Copa) Barry Manilow. You have crossed the line, to the point of no return. Heard it all Before - Sunshine Anderson

Its not what you think, that’s what you said to me. Heard it all Before - Sunshine Anderson

Day to day, with you its always something else, working my nerve. God knows that I don’t deserve, what you put me through ‘Cos ive been so true to you, for you to come at me with another lame excuse See, I’ve heard it all before... Heard it all Before - Sunshine Anderson Someone Once Called One of my ‘Audio-Visual’ works ‘poetic’ ...Have a day off Em) (And I’ve Been Thinking About It Ever Since). Poetry lies in this perpetual fold. I’ve been thinking about the word ‘poetic’ and how its used in a given context. Is that poetic enough? When someone declares something ‘poetic’ they might mean: Maybe too self-consciously so.

-incomprehensible -over romantically expressed (staccato cadence). -evading simple/over simplified expression or understanding -to follow the last point (on a separate line): not easily digested. -or, alternatively conforming to (or working against) a recognised struc- ture. - (new line) and comprehended as such.

The subtext to which can mean anything from: ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying’ Or ‘You’ve over complicated it’ ‘I recognise this as what I think poetry should be. That is: something abstract, which I have to work to grasp Or indeed, which can never be permanently grasped.’ -NB: ephemeral/ unfixed. Alternatively, ‘It opens up more questions than it answers, As anything declared poetic should!’ (I think individuals in this last category, would be more self- righteous/ unmoving in what they believed poetry to be and thus ‘poetic’ to mean.)

Anyway, it’s a sliding scale, And as its not outwardly obvious where the declarant (is that the right word?) stands. It is open to personal interpretation. The claim that something is ‘poetic’ could, Somewhere along the scale, Be seen as ‘poetic’ in itself...

Or perhaps, choosing to see it in such a way, I know you like to, line dance. could equally be seen as striving Everything so democratic and cool, (for an intelligent viewpoint), but baby there’s no guidance, Over complicating. when random rules. (Trying too fucking hard... Random Rules. Silver Jews Formed Ham.

My sisters (ex) girlfriend, When preparing food to go on a picnic, Picked up the ham I’d bought For the sandwiches, And said: I never buy formed ham. I didn't really know that there was a difference Between different types of ham on the shelves; That formed ham, had been made up of all of the other bits, That aren’t good quality meat. I mean, I remember that Mam wouldn’t let me get The ham with a teddy bear face on From the butcher’s bit in Safeway, But I assumed, like Sunny D, that was just because of E numbers. When choosing meat in the supermarket, I’d always used my Nanas trick:

Look at the unit price! What you think is good value Isn't always if you look closely.

Now I can’t buy formed ham, Because I keep on thinking Of all the bad bits rolled up, Flattened out. I am burdened by considerations Of quality. Tenors in my writing.

Wake up in the morning, I don’t think I’m in control of my ‘tenors’ With a head like (or my tremors for that matter) ‘What you done?’ Not consciously This used to be the life but I don't need another one When my boyfriend composes even the smallest message, or reply, he Good luck cuttin' nothin', dictates the words out loud carryin' on, you wear them gowns I Don’t Feel Like Dancing Scissor Sisters. (E:You're only saying ‘yes that would be great’… Do you really need to practice that out loud??

Mia Taylor: Maybe take a break from it, J: It's just a habit) Get some distance from the writing. See how specific bits of text are operating... Perhaps I notice it more because it's something I just don’t do. I don’t What tenors are you using? rehearse in my head the words ‘landing’. I think throughout this text I’ve realised I should.

Very good point.

I’m just firing blanks without a target. I don’t really consider my audience enough.

But considering them, in this way (the way that I am now) isn’t really ‘being considerate’ in the usual sense, it's considering how I can commu- nicate better, so that they can get on board with the work.... it's more like constructing an advert and considering the target audience, than genuine altruism.

...It's like inviting everyone on your Facebook friends list to the open stu- dios event, not because you genuinely want their company, but because you want it to be packed out.

All you do is change your clothes and call that versatile You got so many colours make a blind man so confused I Don’t Feel Like Dancing - Scissor Sisters I dreamt that the houseplant I’m most proud of died and all its leaves blackened and fell off. Then I was back in University Halls with a girl who didn’t want to be with me and she showed me a Tupperware she’d bought that fit exactly one Rice Krispie.

I asked Google what it means this morning and DreamBible told me that the plant death means a feeling that I’m neglecting areas of my life is slowly developing. It had no explanation for the Rice Krispie Tupperware.

I went into my Mams room, Recounted the tale. ... a feeling that I’m neglecting areas of my life is slowly developing.

She sat up in bed, and pointing towards me said:

Its church!! I thought the graphic design on this book was brilliant when I bought it. The more I look at it though, the more heavy handed it becomes. I can almost hear the designer laughing at his own joke, stroking his own genius.

When I use humour in my own work, I feel the same. It expires with each expiration. Each iteration depletes its value.

You make the same old jokes, and malaprops, on cue. Suffering ukeboxJ Silver Jews Critical language and Joni Mitchells ‘clouds’.

J: I like the pop culture references; they give me footholds to enter the rest of the stuff. It’s like a breather. I dunno. It’s not as impenetrable as some of the other stuff you do. I know the references. I guess cos this is more writing than you’ve ever done as well, it’s more explicitly laid out…so I can follow along.

E: I agree. But there’s a part of me that’s fighting against that. I don’t want it to be In my very first voice note, I talked of the ‘critical language’ I have too explicit… too digestible. I guess it’s going back to the idea of wanting for some- developed since coming to art college. I acknowledge, it is hugely thing to be ‘poetic’, in the sense that you have to strive for its meaning. As an artist I beneficial, as a structure to be able to think through things. And yet, think there’s always the desire for that… and perhaps a pressure? I read something that structure... the ‘architecture’ of that language can be limiting, even the other day… in Serious Noticing, where James Wood wrote about the fact that if oppressive the ‘stakes’…the way in which meaning is constructed… are too low, there is a view that its failed to make a case for its seriousness. In part I guess its meeting that social In Both Sides Now, Joni Mitchell sings expectation.

Rows and flows of angel hair J: Yeh. I get you. The social expectation and ‘reading’ is an interesting thing though. I And ice cream castles in the air was listening to an interview with Leonard Cohen the other day about ‘Suzanne’, and And feather canyons every where he was saying about how so many people think what he’s talking about was fictional, I’ve looked at clouds that way. metaphors that stand in for…or open bigger questions about life and love, et cetera, But now they only block the sun but he says like… all of this stuff literally happened. Suzanne was my best friends They rain and snow on everyone girlfriend, and she literally gave me this Chinese Tea and these oranges… So many things I would have done But clouds got in my way He was in love with her but couldn’t do anything because she was his best friends lass. I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now So when he wrote the line : ‘you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind’, That was From up and down and still somehow literal. He could only touch her with his mind. It’s cloud’s illusions I recall I really don’t know clouds at all.

The words I was fumbling for, pinpointed exactly.

The very first time I heard the song, was in Love Actually, when Emma Thompson’s character confesses: ‘she taught my cold English heart how to feel.’ You say that’s what you have been given, A whole lot of nothing for your time. I agree. I would add: she taught my anxious, knotted mind, how to think And have you sunken, about thinking about thinking. down in your bones, Do you toss and turn at night? And are you holding, Loosen your grip, it doesn’t belong to you anyway. holding on so tight? September Fields - Frazey Ford. A bee just got stuck inside. It was butting its head against the glass. So I opened the window to let it out.

This is me, opening the window to let you out.

You can stop reading now.

Just kidding, It’s like being in a briefing, and the lecturer says This will all be uploaded onto Moodle

In other words, you needn’t be here, but you are, and social etiquette dictates, that you stay.

Stay Please,

Now I’m strong enough To know For me x You gotta go There’s no more to say So save your breath

and walk away Strong Enough - Cher Is that my Echo? I Decided was released by Solange Knowles (and produced by Pharell The album Love is Overtaking Me, Arthur Russell, was released in 2008, six- Williams) in 2008. It samples the ‘hand claps’ from the hit song Where Did teen years after the artists death. In ‘I Couldn’t Say It to Your Face’ , Russell’s Our Love Go released by The Supremes in 1964. voice ambles tenderly over the line : Playing the two tracks, one after the other, in the ‘mastered’ (digitally edited) I Decided the clapping sound is louder, more prominent, (‘amped I couldn’t say it to your face, up’ ) and the reverb of the original recording edited out. In such a way But I won’t be around anymore. the original seems an echo of the sampled version.

He echoes this once more: In the first line of the song, Solange sings: I couldn’t say it to your face, But I won’t be around anymore. Ooh, An assumption that the song is a call, a letter or an apology to a lost lover I can’t hear myself. (no nooo) is punctured a few lines later as the drum beat builds and trombones Can you please turn me up a little bit more? introduce fanfare and Russell’s voice raises defiantly* : ---- It’s my world, It’s my song, Didn’t ask you to sing along. In her 2015 book The Argonauts Maggie Nelson directly quotes a story told by Wayne Kostenbaum

---- “Some psycho girlfriend of mine (decades ago) answered a long rhapsodic letter I’d written to her with this terse, humiliating rebuff: ‘Next time, write to me’. That one command, on a tiny slip of paper, tucked into an envelope. I remem- In a YouTube broadcast, 13 April 2020, Andrew Lloyd Webber addresses ber thinking, ‘Wasn’t I writing to her? How could I know, when writing to her, the camera: that I secretly wasn’t writing to her?’ At that point, Derrida hadn’t yet written ‘The Post Card’, so I didn’t know what to do with my befuddled, wounded Hi everybody! sense of being a rhapsodic narcissist of a letter-writer weirdly instructed to Welcome to episode, ‘I don’t know what’ of composer in isolation. Uh… ‘relate’, to speak to someone, instead of the nothingness at the end of writing” well… I’m going to have to do it. It’s the song from ‘Cats’ that you’ve all been asking for. You can sing along to it… ----

Don’t make videos.

---- * I ran this one by my Mam. After a bit of thought, she turned to me, and said: ‘I don’t think it was defiance Em. I think it was a suicide note.’ ‘Use Your Words’

I’ve heard this a few times recently, not in real life, on telly and in films.

Each time, there has been a certain ambivalence between the sense of empowerment, even encouragement, offered up by the words, Which is at once, at tension with and teetering on, coaxing and mocking. It’s a feeling, consolidated by the tone of the speaker.

Though, with time to think, (too much) I have started to ask myself: How fine is the line between a mocking voice, and a pleading one?

Perhaps I got it wrong. Maybe they were just asking for a response, an acknowledgment of the question, an acknowledgement that they had been heard.

Righty-Tighty Lefty - Loosey.

I didn’t realise, until I wrote that out, that it could easily be political Until I start questioning why I find it comforting. rhetoric (spoken by a hypothetical middle man...who I’ve yet to discover a figurehead for in contemporary politics…….or in my beliefs?...)

When we had to put the riggers back on our boats in school, I would Lefty Loosey. tighten the bolts so hard that it took twice the time it should have to get them off, ready to load the boats back onto the trailer after the race. If I look back (with a Freudian hat on) I was trying to exert some control, when the rest of my life was going lefty loosey. --- If I was looking at it from a CBT perspective, I just really didn't want the riggers to fall off mid stroke. I wanted us to have a chance at winning the race. My behaviour was dictated by that thought. You might have seen the cartoon, I’m not sure which I buy into. With a little man digging, I do know that this text is going lefty loosey, And just before he’s reached gradually unravelling. the Gold, He says Get back to the nuts and bolts of it. Fuck it, Try and pin it in. I’m going home, I give up. Tighten it up. Or something like that; Righty Tighty. I’m paraphrasing.

Well, The inherent (implicit?) suggestion that there is an order of things, I can tell you with and in confidence, Upon which we can exert control, I find really comforting. there is no gold here. Until I start questioning why I find it comforting.

------E: I’m trying to look for the picture of me singing Cher. You know the one where Nana Do you believe (in life after love)? had put a cocktail umbrella in my hair? At my Nanas parties, M:Why... can I ask?.... Everyone had a turn. My Mam did her crow (yoga) pose, Siobhan sang a gaelic song, Alison usually got us all up dancing and spinning (she’d recently come back from travelling) Francesca danced, & I followed behind (usually in my nappy wanting attention too). I’m not sure how or why or when, but realising Francesca was already much better than me, I found my own thing, in Cher Believe. That was my song, & the first song I ever knew all the words off by heart.

Looking back, it's kind of funny that a young kid was singing about unrequited love...

I mean the synth pop sound, did kind of align it with Aqua Barbie Girl (another favourite) But, I mean… in really listening to (and over analyzing) the lyrics….

Do you believe in life after love? I can hear something inside me saying, M: No that's not the one…. You were older ...you had a feather boa on when you were I really don’t think you’re strong enough, singing Cher. You were Irish Dancing there. No. ...then a rallying call (to all the brokenhearted)

Cos I’ve had time to think it through, and maybe I’m too good for you

Back to the chorus. And then:

I know that I’ll get through this, ‘Cause I know that I am strong.

-Back and forth questioning.-Defiant//dependent -Implicit lack of ‘believability’ in the protagonists strength -But then this song seems just a means of convincing themselves/ no need for an audience . ..but at the same time a desperate need for an audience/ not to be alone in suffering -Reading too much into memories… and song lyrics?..Doing freudian analysis when i should be doing CBT or ‘radical acceptance’ -Becoming too invested in the past.. -No longer considering readership, v. self involved. ...But then again was Cher considering her audience? Or was she just (co)writing a fucking banger and establishing herself as a pop godess/ queer idol (... i guess the latter is considering audience)??

Darkness and cold, darkness and cold Rolled in through the holes in the stories I’ve told. Darkness and Cold. Purple Mountains Is that my echo? The animals sense when you’re getting to the bottom of your bucket of fish because they hear the ice clanging around in the kind of fishy soupy water at the bottom. The first performance of the touring show The Lord of the Dance, was 27 June 1996. It was envisioned, choreographed and produced by Michael ----- Flatley, who rose to fame as the male lead in Riverdance. Flatley was chosen as the lead over Colin Dunne, who was the better J: You’ve lost it chic. dancer, as he ‘looked the part’, and Dunne had acne. * ----- My friend Rachel (who I used to Irish Dance with) told me that someone who was part of the troupe of Flatleys The Lord of the Dance, revealed to I always wondered, her that the ‘taps’ were all pre-recorded, and dancers had the actual taps when I was little of their heavy shoes taken off. when people said ‘God answered my prayers’ I couldn’t believe it either when she told me! My childhood wonder, dancing along to the or video in our front room ruined. ‘Well...that was God telling me!’ if they were hearing a voice, The Dubliners, an Irish folk band released The Lord of the Dance in 1975, that I wasn’t. a version of the hymn written by Sydney Carter in 1963. Carter had I strained harder, taken the melody, from a Shaker hymn Simple Gifts. asked directly: If you can hear me In Time will break the World, (Silver Jews) Please answer me. the first two lines, Maybe I was colour-blind

I thought, The sun and the shutters to Gods voice. and the sun shattered hair, In time, seem to have the same intonation and cadence as the hymn. I became a ventriloquist , It feels like a version of the song, on the point of breaking; slowed down for an imagined God to the point it seems to judder, as if played on a broken record player. (who in my mind looked exactly like my parish priest Fr. Dan) E: Can you hear it?... The God in my head was so great, I lost sight of the need for a Real God. J: I mean, it’s a reach...Maybe you’re becoming so obsessed you’re starting to see links (who my Dad said was definitely the Catholic God). that aren’t there. ----- On February 24th 2010, after a lifetime in captivity, the orca ‘Tilikum’ killed professional trainer Dawn Therese Brancheau in SeaWorld Flori- The conversations I’ve recorded, as part of this text, da. In a Dogwoof documentary Blackfish a former trainer and a former are from memory. videographer for the park, recounted the event: *My Mam is quite sure but not totally sure that the story she told me about You can also see through the video that Dawn is running out of food. Colin Dunne is correct. In the 1972 film, The Godfather, Don Vito Corleone (played by Marlon Brando) says, of his children: ‘They talk when they should listen.’

I called you yesterday, you didn’t answer your phone. The main drag, is knowing that, you probably weren’t alone.

(turn the voice down a little)

I wanna call you, everyday, and beg you to be near me. I know, your head is underwater, I doubt that you can hear me. 17 Days. Prince

I’m sitting waiting for my Deus ex Machina Suck The Blood From My Wound ***https://docs.google.com/document/d/10o9PsJmgzrX- Ezra Furman zc-cAIcCIYMjijmnnzDOvkHDIqPtExfs/edit?usp=sharing