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In ten, seven is its three. In ten, ten is its negative three. In ten, five is its five. Yesterday, I asked myself a question that quickly turned into a statement as they most often do. "I think Sam loves me as much as I love him." That enchanted excitement upon his mention, a shattered shutter singularity that holds no impasse, adulation of the inane insanity derived from the memories left behind in the form of an appended love that wanders the snowy coasts of the four corners of the earth to know none like you, and a hole in my head. Turgid worms that nosh excrement never see the tallest building. Avant-garde there, I make my music, Sam draws and paints miracles and we love. Together, alone. I wish that someday we could be together, with no one around and just do this. "This" was last Sunday, and "this" made me very happy. Thank you immensely. It might not look like much, but I love being with you, even when we're just napping in the dark, warm seclusion of the Castle of Indolence. There's one thing that you and I don't have in common with John and Yoko that I wish to correct one day. Or at least try. One day... I'll go tight-rope dancing with my destiny.

-Chris Duarte