...misplaced anchovies snapping around clumps of electrons shout "I renounce the use of Russian-made vacuum tubes manufactured after the 1955 Hungarian revolution!" No one understands anchovies.

Joe Baldwin, jazz pianist and private eye.

Dramaturgical musination.

I am really not sure why it is so much fun to combine sounds together like this. Sort of like throwing paint on the wall.

Package in hand, my footsteps echo on the damp concrete harbor walkway. Steel containers stacked everywhere. I head out onto the main pier, carrying the package under my arm, nonchalant. Something bothersome about this package, not quite sure why. The package, or rather its contents, emits a distinctive low frequency hum that make me feel... different. I worry, does it contain radiation, or germs or something I can't imagine yet? Nevertheless, unable to resist my newly implanted instructions, I continue forward, and enter the pier area itself at just past midnight. The events of yesterday flood back to mind. I remember now, the secluded harbor maintenance shed, the strange operating room, the injections, powerful mind-altering chemicals, the trunk full of spiders and cockroaches. I did not like that. Well, in any case, I must hurry, can't be late. Must get to the end of the pier, and I don't even know why. Deliver the package, that is what the woman said. The woman wearng black leather, sitting on a black motorcycle, in a dark shadow, at the end of a dark alley. What the... Crap, I'm late. No, no, no, Ahhhh! I've made it. Finally. Feeling of relief. Now, emerging out of the fog, I see it. I approach. I scan the ship to locate the proper entrance portal. The ship is at least a quarter mile in height, and twice that across. Set down in plain sight, smack dab at the end of the main loading dock. I'm guessing the lake water right here is really deep, and I can't swim, and there's no escape anyways, because I am held by a voice in my own head. I don't really want to escape, do I? Ah, there, I spot the entrance now, lonesome door on the far left, to a luminous window of some sort. I am surprised to find the anxiety fading as I approach this immense, glowing phantasmal... SHIP, for lack of a better term -- a space ship, one of many from the invasion fleet, who would have thought... I walk proudly forward, carrying my weird little package, a member of the new team now. I feel a sense of pride, of satisfaction and fulfillment. It's okay to feel a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment, isn't it? It's the future, right? In fact, I feel damned good. Life is good.