I OWN ALL THE RIGHTS TO ALL MY RAPS: Why Owning Your Masters Is The Next Wave In The Music Industry

Recently deceased California rapper Nipsey Hussle was ahead of the game and owned his masters. His family will receive the proceeds of anything related to his music until the end of time.

I’ve been seeing a lot of stories in “music news” lately about artists reclaiming their master recordings. In the wake of Nipsey Hussle’s recent passing, the fact that his estate has full ownership of his masters has become a point of hope and optimism despite the tragedy of his departure.

I’m sure that I know a lot of people who aren’t necessarily aware of how much of a fucking dub it is to own your own master recordings. I know this because, well, they’ve asked me about it. After all, the particularities of our favorite artists record deals aren’t necessarily relevant to any of our own lives and even less relevant to our ability to enjoy their music. But everyone wants to understand the news and, right now, this stuff is in the news.

That being said, you might be surprised at how rare it is for big label artists, ones that we naturally associate with obscene wealth and near transcendental levels of personal freedom and autonomy, to own their own music. For example, did you know that the Beatles (all four of them put together) didn’t own their recordings until 2017? Michael Jackson purchased the rights to their catalogue in 1985 for $47.5 million. In a total bro move, Jackson did not bequeath those rights to the band upon his own death in 2010.

In fact, It took seven years of legal battles for Paul McCartney to even reach a compromise with Sony over the rights and they’re The fucking Beatles. Their catalogue is valued at $1 billion. So what’s the deal here? (no pun intended. But now, as I write this, it is quite intended).

First of all, what exactly is a master recording? We all have access to these artists’ catalogues in digital and physical forms. What’s the difference between an mp3 file and these multi-million dollar recordings of the same composition of sounds?

It all starts at the moment an artist signs a deal with a major label. Imagine that you’re interested in putting together a hit album that aims to compete with established artists for billboard spots. You’re trying to make some money. Dollar dollar bills, playa. C.R.E.A.M.

Well that costs a fuckload of someone’s money. I’m talking at least $100,000 dollars if you want the type of professional studio quality that you hear from the world’s biggest musical acts. A master recording is the original recording of whatever gets recorded in that expensive ass studio. And the label owns it because they paid for that studio time.

Essentially, once you’re signed, the label gives you a cash advance so that you can record that album. In a lot of cases, the artist doesn’t even get to decide how that money is allocated. Everything is designed by the labels to get as much of a return on their investment in you as possible. They choose the studio, they choose the engineers, they choose everything.

Suspiciously, the labels normally tend to have very expensive tastes. Even when they’re trying to hop on the wave and replicate unpolished DIY sounds of the independent music scene (examples through the years include The Sex Pistols, the barrage of Eddie Vedder sound alikes that rose from the ashes of the grunge scene of the late 80’s and early 90’s, Lil Yachty and, of course, The fucking Beatles).

Now, let’s talk about numbers.

In exchange for the lump sum of cash that the label “provides” to the artist, the label usually takes about 90% of all revenue that the album generates. If your album makes $1 million then the label keeps $900,000.

Even further from that, a lot of deals also have clauses that stipulate that the artist return the amount of that advance from out of their pocket. If the label gave you $100,000 to make that album that made $1 million, then you would have to give the label back the first $100,000 that your album made. Then you have to give them 90% of the remaining $900,00 dollars. You have now made $90,0000 from your album.

Which is great until you consider that labels generally limit you to one album every 3-4 years. That means that you’re making 22.5K to 30K a year. If you work a job that makes $12/hr you make about as much money as that artist who made that hit album.

And god help you if your album doesn’t sell. I’ll leave you guys to ponder the full scope of the repercussions. Just keep in mind that, when you’re strapped into one of these contracts, that the label also has full control over your marketing and touring ability. They can fucking bury you. Ask, like, every other artist that’s ever been signed to Cash Money Records.

On top of that, you don’t even own the music that you made. Ownership of the master recordings means that, in every instance that a piece of music is played (digital streams, commercials, every time it’s sampled, albums bought, etc), the royalties resulting from those appearances goes to the label. NOT the artist.

That shit sucks but there are other avenues for artists to make music, right? They can still generate revenue for themselves via merchandising, ticket sales/tour revenue, endorsement deals and shit like that, right?

In the past, this was somewhat true. But with physical sales declining (CD’s, Tapes, Live Performance Vids) labels are starting to look elsewhere to recoup their investments in these artists.

Enter: The 360 Deal.

I’m not sure if you guys remember that viral video of Joe Budden yelling at Lil Yachty on the now defunct show, “Everyday Struggle”. But it was essentially Joe Budden attempting to convince Yachty that he had signed the worst deal that he could have signed. A terrible fucking decision. One that, even if Yachty had acknowledge the mistake, couldn’t possibly be remedied until his contract with Quality Control, Motown, and Capitol records (yes, he’s signed to THREE SEPARATE LABELS) runs out.

Yachty has a 360 deal. This means that those three labels not only own his masters but they each get fat cuts from his tours, concerts, live performances, merchandise sales, endorsement deals, appearances in movies, television shows, publishing revenue, songwriting credits AND his Sprite commercials.

In exchange, labels offer increased and prolonged promotion for the artist in relation to what they would have received from the deals of the past. However, if the artist is successful enough, they don’t actually need the promotion that the label offers. If the artist’s album flops, then no amount of “prolonged promotion” will sway public opinion.

Think of all those videos of label heads giving these artists gifts like sports cars, chains, and trendy clothes. The first of two depreciate substantially in value over the years (a side note?). A 20K chain makes the artist look like he’s making more money than he is. In turn, the social media machine is alerted to said artists viability as an “up and comer”. The label builds a narrative around the artist as to suggest that he’s “winning the game”.

The kids buy all of the artist’s shit. T-Shirts, mp3’s, fashion nova jeans etc. The whole time, the artist himself is getting as minimal a fraction of that money as the label can stand to part with.

Then the artist drops a bad album. The kids don’t think they’re quite so cool anymore because they’re now 30 and can’t relate to the ever transforming cultural zeitgeists of the internet age. The endorsement deals run dry because you can’t influence the buying class anymore.

At least you still have the royalties from your hit songs of the past? The ones that built you up in the first place? Nope. The label gets all of that. You can no longer afford to maintain that car they gave you. You can’t pay for the mansion that they set you up in. You have to sell all of the jewelry. You’ve hit rock bottom.

I’ve already written a lot so I’m going to drag out the conclusion. Kanye’s getting his masters back. Nipsey owned all of his already. Mac Miller refused to sign a label for years in order to retain the rights to his music.

The point is that you won’t and can’t be hot forever. Or at least you can’t count on it. Everything is great when you’re on top but artists should remember that, at the end of the day, they are a product in the eyes of these labels. Just like an athlete, once your body can’t keep up, you will get cut.

Hopefully, the next generation of kids making dope music follow suit and make themselves aware of their options. You don’t even need a label anymore. There are a limitless amount of resources out there for them to educate themselves and make their own way now that the channels of dissemination have broken free of the industry model. It might take a little more work but a little bit of work gets you what you want.

 

GERMAN GUYS FIGHT A MOUNTAIN: Werner Herzog tells the universe to go fuck itself

Wait till you get a load of this shit

Are you familiar with the Greek myth of Sisyphus? If you aren’t, it goes something like this: Sisyphus had a reputation for pissing off Zeus. As punishment for his transgressions against the pettiest dude in history (that wasn’t formerly known as the artist, Prince), Sisyphus was forced to spend an eternity in Hades pushing a giant boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down the hill whenever it neared the top.

Sounds pretty shitty, right? The existentialist writer/philosopher Albert Camus didn’t think so. Camus imagines that, in relation to his fate, Sisyphus was actually happy. In fact, Camus claims that Sisyphus must be happy!

This could be total nonsense but let’s take Camus’ perspective for the sake unpacking his argument. From Albert’s position, within the absurdity and sheer futility of Sisyphus’ situation, the struggle itself – having something to work against – is what gives Sisyphus meaning in spite of the absolute meaninglessness of his eternal task.

Happiness and triviality are inextricably linked with one another.

 If you think that the last two paragraphs were bullshit then I have the movie for you. Werner Herzog’s 1982 film, Fitzcarraldo, aka the most F.U.B.A.R. film production of all time.  

The story of Fitzcarraldo, on and off screen, is actually kind of similar to the myth of Sisyphus. Only, there’s no giant rock being pushed up a hill. That would be too easy and Werner Herzog was (and might still be) a psychopath. So here’s what the guy came up with instead: We’re going to haul a fucking steamboat over a Peruvian MOUNTAIN.

I don’t know how much you know about Peru…but, god dammit, they have some mountains.

The guy could have used some movie magic to provide the illusion that a massive steamboat was being pulled up a mountainside. Some clever editing. Deceptive camera angles. Whatever. Even the real life human being that the movie was based on disassembled the boat before trying to heave it over the top of a mountain range.

Herzog said “Nope. That guy was a pussy. We’re doing an entire boat. Send that shit, motherfucker”.

This is him. This is the guy.

Before continuing, I’ll take a moment to quickly summarize the plot of Fitzcarraldo. The protagonist of the film, an aspiring rubber baron, attempts to reach a fertile patch of land via steamboat.

When a mountain range blocks his path to said patch of land, he decides that the most logical course of action is (of course) to just grab some natives and have them literally pull the 320-ton boat over the mountain. If you want to find out whether or not he pulls it off, you’re going to have to watch the movie.

While the film itself is actually very good, it’s nowhere near as interesting as what was going on behind the cameras. Luckily, one of the great things about Fitzcarraldo’s infamy is that much of the film’s production was visually documented.

If you can, get your hands on Les Blank’s documentary film, Burden of Dreams, and bask in the bashit craziness of Werner Herzog and his somehow even crazier lead actor, Klaus Kinski.

(Side note: Herzog and Kinski made five films together. During the filming of Aguirre: The Wrath of God, Peruvian natives offered to murder Kinski for Herzog. After considering the offer, Herzog eventually declined…only to pull a gun on Kinski and threaten to do it himself a few weeks later. They remained good friends up until Kinski’s death in 1989.)

Among the most memorable shenanigans are two separate plane crashes, the natives burning down the film set, and Herzog making the startlingly easy decision to continue filming a scene despite being told that there was a 70% chance that the cables holding the ship would snap and kill the entire crew.

So, yeah. Back to the question of whether or not Sisyphus must be happy. Beyond all of the chaos and ambiguity on the set of Fitzcarraldo, Herzog put together one of his best and most memorable films. Do you think he was happy with himself?

He tries to pull a boat over a fucking mountain.

St. Anselm and The Necessity of God

by Aaron Fiegel

For as long as humanity has been comprised of what appear to be conscious agents (Humans) operating within the limits of space and time, the question of what lies beyond said limits has been repeatedly confronted by philosophers, theologists and scientists. The question, to be more specific, is whether or not that which lies beyond our comprehension meaningfully influences that which is tangible in the sensory world.

 In the pre-modern era (before the European Renaissance), one’s personal sense of self, along with their sense of existential purpose in life, was usually made manifest via their faith in their cultural god or god(s). While pre-modern spirituality wasn’t necessarily hinged upon providing a sense of freedom or completion to the practicing individual, the ritualistic organization of sacred experience, usually centered around an intermediary figure (i.e. Moses of the Bible or the Qur’an’s prophet Mohammed) who acted as a representative of god on earth, clearly indicates that attempts to rectify the inevitable split between that which can be understood and that which can never be understood has persisted throughout the entirety of recorded human history.

 Classic greek thought and the advent of scientific reason opened up a new kind of dialogue between the mysticism of mankind’s former days and the pragmatism of modern philosophy. Understandably, the question of whether or not god actually exists at all lies at the center of this transcendental discussion. Although an endless stream of thinkers have meditated upon such a question, one that (given that it could be answered) would fundamentally alter the way that human beings relate to the world as we understand it, within the confines of this particular discussion I will direct the focus towards the arguments of Saint Anselm of Canterbury, a historically prominent Christian philosopher/theologian of the eleventh century and the contrasting arguments of more modern philosophers.

As previously stated, St. Anselm was a Christian philosopher. With this information in mind, I can assume that Anselm’s understanding of spiritual metaphysics was inherently rooted in the belief that god not only existed but that he also existed in a manner that he would have us believe is in parallel to man’s own existence. Therefore, I can make the further assumption that Anselm must have believed that there is a sacred relationship between human beings and the god that they worship. 

What’s intriguing about the way that Anselm frames his argument is that he appears to be conscious of this possible objection towards religious philosophy (in general)  hundreds of years before it would have been at all excusable to voice opinions contrary to the ideological, and in many ways political, Catholic church of the era. I find that, in Anselm’s reasoning, he utilizes dogma not as an explanation but more so as a condition that speaks to the necessity of god’s existence and not necessarily as proof of said existence. 

Anselm describes his concept of god as “that than which nothing greater can be conceived” which would imply that god should be understood as the the preeminent figure of all existence. Naturally, logic would have us make the further inference that god would, therefore, exist if Anselm’s concept were to be proven to be correct. In order to justify his claim, Anselm develops what he refers to as his “ontological argument” for the existence of god. 

Due to the fact that our understanding of Anselm’s reasoning as a whole is dependent on our understanding of the terminology used, it is crucial that we detail what Anselm means when he uses the word “ontological”. Denotatively, ontology is the specific branch of metaphysics that studies the nature of existence or being as such. In an ontological argument, we will find that there is a conflict between two particular types of arguments in regards to the question of existence. 

First, we encounter the a posteriori argument which stipulates that the claims made by said argument are justified independently from experience. To clarify, the claims of the a posteriori argument deal primarily with concepts that are inherent to the conscious nature of the self and is not related to one’s relationship to his environment or one’s sense of temporality. In contrast, the a priori argument can, in fact, be at least partially informed by sensory and temporal experience. 

The friction between these two understandings of existence suggests that there might be two different forms of existence that are inherently separate from one another. St. Anselm’s ontological argument becomes, at its foundation, an argument between that which exists in understanding and that which exists in reality (or within space). 

Ultimately, Anselm would have us being forced to admit that god exists in both planes and is, therefore, of a undeniably perfect and transcendent nature that is beyond our own comprehension. Our understanding exists only in the realm of intelligibility and our physical bodies exist only in the realm of the senses. For Anselm’s god, however, that which exists in both mind and body is greater than that which exists in either alone.

As we approach Anselm’s ontological argument for the existence of god we are introduced to four premises that serve to bolster his stance that god, indeed, does exist if only for the reason that, to Anselm, they are indefensible.

 To start, Anselm sarcastically argues that god (“that then which nothing greater can be conceived”) exists not in reality but instead exists solely in understanding (a posteriori). In making this claim, Anselm is consciously leading us to suppose that, if god were to exist only in understanding, that we should theoretically have the ability to, through our understanding, conceive of a being greater than god. 

This should come across as somewhat absurd and Anselm is very aware of this. He purposefully structures his argument in this fashion in order to have us come to the realization that god cannot possibly exist solely in thought. Therefore, god must exist in reality as well; a perfect existence.

While the way in which Anselm makes his argument makes it difficult to deny his logic, we should still be somewhat skeptical of his conclusion. To begin, the idea that god is something inconceivable to understanding seems to, quite obviously, logically contradict the proposition that god exists in understanding. The concept of god might leave itself open to ponderance within the mind but there isn’t much in the argument that would motivate one to emphatically conclude that god exists. 

Gaunilo of Marmoutiers, a Benedictine monk and one of St. Anselm’s contemporaries of the period,  argued that Anselm’s ontological argument was deficient in the way that you could theoretically use it to “prove” the existence of a perfect form of basically anything. In Gaunilo’s criticism, he chooses to use the idea of a “perfect island” to illustrate his point. In short, Gaunilo didn’t believe that Anselm’s ontological argument offered a coherent concept of perfection because it offered no parameters or intrinsic maxima (limit) for perfection. 

Gaunilo claimed that, as there is no coherent concept of the best possible island, that we have no reason to assume that said island can’t be improved upon. In parallel, this criticism would extend to Anselm’s argument in the way that, although his ontological argument makes it difficult to deny his logic, his argument might not do too much to really prove it either. 

This comes across as an oddly empirical approach towards abstract metaphysics and I’m sure that Anselm would have felt as though Gaunilo missed the point of his argument. However, Gaunilo’s criticism does push us to consider the limits of understanding in regards to our ability to conceptualize the relative dualism of Anselm’s god concept. 

One could say that, in Gaunilo’s criticism, he does, in fact, misunderstand the point that Anselm sought to communicate. Attempting to use physical terminology in order to discuss the metaphysical questions that Anselm was addressing was likely his first misstep in approaching the ontological argument. If we understand god to be the cause of all things, then we must continue onwards to the idea that, with the exception of god, not all things are essentially necessary. 

If we are led to believe that, in order to be defined as truly necessary, an object or entity can’t possibly not exist (as opposed to the existence of said substance being functionally contingent in the framework of existence at large) then using Anselm’s argument for the purpose of proving anything but the existence of god is, ironically, rather unnecessary. When Anselm criticizes Gaunilo’s interpretation of his argument, I believe that he is primarily criticizing Gaunilo’s insistence on handling the question of god’s existence with the materialism that is inextricable from such an empirical approach to the subject matter.  

The success of Anselm’s argument still, however, hinges upon his ability to convince us that god can exist in reality. Immanuel Kant, a German philosopher of the 18th century, argues that “existing in reality”, as Anselm presents it, is an ineffective terminology because it technically shouldn’t be considered a valid predicate for his argument. Kant’s reasoning behind this objection is that existence cannot be a part of the concept of a “thing” and that Anselm’s statement is only as true as the meaning that we assign to the term. 

In effect, Kant finds the term “existing in reality” underwhelming because it does little to explain the essence of being. Instead, the ontological argument would only depict occurrences of being as opposed to being in itself. Naturally, if god operates outside of the realm of experience (and Kant would believe that we have no proof that god operates in any otherwise fashion) we are unable to verify god’s existence at all and Anselm’s argument for god’s existence is not only fruitless but, in a practical sense, a bit foolish.

When I revisit the distinction between necessary and contingent existence, I believe that Anselm would have countered Kant’s objection by explaining that if god, being in essence the greatest possible being, were not necessary or of necessary existence, I could assume that something greater than god, possessing all of the other perfections of a god as well as existing in reality, absolutely must exist. Again, absurdity is being utilized to further his argument as there couldn’t possibly be a greater being than the greatest possible being. 

However, in proposing this, I’m not persuaded that Anselm would have effectively countered Kant’s objection. If I cannot prove that god exists in reality, only being able to conceive his existence in thought and understanding, then the god that manifests itself in the intelligible world could not truly be god. In conclusion, Anselm has done little to demonstrate that god exists in reality but has made it difficult for us to argue against his faith. Ultimately, faith may inspire others to search for the answer to the question of god’s existence, but only by asking more questions. 

The Museum of Modern Art, NYC

Dear Vincent,

We met once, on 53rd Street in New York,

but I regret that it was difficult to hear

over the low roar of the museum’s ocean floor.

I was the one marooned beside the watercolors.

You had been hung on the wall like a crucifix

amidst a carnival of colors and shapes

and the vulgarity of the scene, quiet enough

to hear a rosary shake, wailed out: blasphemy!  

I admit that I’m as guilty as anyone there

of attempting to sail by your unlucky star

of being fascinated by your cruel appetites

of fantasizing about you…eating your yellow paint.

But I want us to stop letting you eat that paint

stop bathing your insides in maize

stop softening your belly with lead

stop gawking. It never made anybody happy.

If we could only hear the lonely moans

rustling in the bones of your swirling

brush strokes. Surely, if we saw you drowning

in those golden pools of oil and plucked

your body from the subway muck,

having sensed the love you lost as our own,

the Dutch fields, the fertile earth, the farmer’s

wife would chirp for all of New York to hear!

like pigeons! like street corner kebabs

sizzling! like laughter as we screw to slow jams

of traffic! like the drunken pantomime outside singing

opera! We could all love because everything is yellow!

Ocean City, Maryland

Having spent myself drunk on sunshine

I was fine with a crab sandwich and a decent view

The black water had once been clear as day

And made certain that the flash was active

When asked for photos by friends in love

With each other, with the water, with the beachside

Restaurant which kept forcing itself

Onto my plate. Where torchlight was atmosphere

Hopping across the roof of an ancient aquarium

That sat just beyond the pier, charging no admission

While discouraging visitors for safety

Reasons. For enjoyment, the staff said

“Nothing beats a commemorative tee shirt”

Or the sight of a stranger’s child treading

Through solid waves of prepubescent glass

Beneath my feet – as if that had anything to do with me.

For a good time, “Stop looking so bored.

Take this picture of us beside the plastic shark”.

Skyline Drive, Virginia

I was halfway to Richmond when

The curtain rose. I caught myself searching

For Mr. Samuel Beckett among the treetops.

So I stalled. The car parked. The shoulder

Of a backroad. Unbuckled and tired

As a slug wrung dry. Ticking hands.

I scanned the sea of bark and branches,

Overgrown. Green as ever.

While the sky put on its costume.

Fastened it’s belt in preparation.

The stage directions say it’s so.

He must arrive. It’s Mr. Beckett’s cue.

I wait and I wait and I wait. The planet

Shifts. The stars punch in and go to work.

Everywhere, USA

Every place is the same – somewhere – cast

In weathered concrete and asphalt

Parking lots with peeling Waffle Houses

Exit ramps leading to understaffed gas stations

Raised up slightly off center

Built between half torn fringes of

Borrowed maps and city limits stuck

Like wax in sidewalk cracks

Every person is the same – here –

All of them professionally friendly

Serving continental breakfast while

Silently frustrated, looking out glass

Eyes. Dreaming, like hypnosis, of the day

That this old hotel burns to the ground

Dispelling their tired spirits like vapor

To be done undone and reconstructed

I’ve seen it all and I’ve seen nothing

But people that I’ll never know, having

Been here and there while doing nothing

Like pacing with absent feet taking every thing

Without the comforts of taste or smell

Going to bed hungry. Waking up

To leftovers. Reanimating the same grey

Scene from the inside of a window

Like its 1950.

Some other time. Wonderbread and Moon

Pies still rest. Warm on the windowsill.

Sun-spun sprites of dust leap up

Into flashes of light; desperate to be seen.

I’m in Des Moines and the earth is flat.

The wind is wild, wheezing and burnt

Lung Marlboro brown. Puffed in stacks

By the man standing behind the countertop.

A note passed along in smoke: “Beware”

Slips occur at the edge of the Earth.

Best watch your step in California.

Why don’t ya come back and see us again

Some other time. Dutch Masters and scratch off

Tickets are locked safe behind glass and iron.

A worldly sixteen year old with malt liquor

Legs rattles past real sneaky like

I’m in L.A. and there are hills and the earth is round.

The breeze is cool and it breathes fresh like a Newport;

Menthol blue – brisk like air. An Ethiopian sits

Unconcerned behind the glass and bars passing

Another note along in smoke: “Beware”

Gravity’s a bitch at the center

Of the Earth. Best watch your step

in Des Moines. I felt a little heavier.

The Apostle Rio of Los Angeles

Bodies, counting thirty-nine. Found

Neatly mounted; stacked;

Clad in all black. March 1997.

Wearing nike shoes.

“Heaven’s Gate: Away Team”

Was written on bands that were

Snapped across arms that,

At their ends,

Were clasped with one another’s.

Heads, like roses wrapped in plastic,

Were swathed in purple cloth

That laid flat across many faces.

Souls were nowhere to be seen.

Rio DiAngelo, the sole survivor

Who “spoke for those that flew the coop”,

Describes the scene as an exit.

He never mentions death

As he neatly stacks the Bodies clad in black.

His friends,

With Heads like roses,

Don’t let him weep.

However,

His tears stream freely from their peaks

For those that are left behind. In their Bodies

He sees the barren churches of Ephesus,

Corinth, and Philippi.

And he hears, in their voices, the sounds of Rome;

Where lions once feasted on the bones of believers.

He nails his ninety-five theses to the doors

Of condos and flats in the Silicone Valley;

He never grieves, because

The gates of heaven have been burst open.

He’s free to leave when everyone else is ready.

I Appreciate This…

I know you don’t have to read anything on this page. I know that there’s nothing new under the sun. The pretty cool thing about writing is that it gives people an opportunity to communicate ideas and feelings in depth and in a more deliberate fashion, as opposed to the relatively improvisational nature of conversation. However, mentally, it’s kind of hard to feel like you have the right to write. The rational mind can pretty easily conclude that writing, on a practical scale, is largely without tangible value. The fascinating thing about people, and the world in general, is that they’re in no way, shape or form rational. We all share in the irrationality of love, friendship, hope, joy, happiness, fear, courage, sadness, loss, confusion and beauty. I think everyone has to have felt absolutely overwhelmed by the irrationality of the world at least once and more likely on a constant basis. Does the recognition of the universality of our collective anxiety give me the right to write about what I see and feel in this cosmic crapshoot? I’ll be honest. I don’t know.