(2:51 PM) | Anonymous:

There exists a y such that for all x, I wouldn't not do x for the presence of what is conventionally regarded as the opposite of hate, unless x were y

Ms. The Ugandan Giant has composed a love song. A song to me. It seems that the title is "I feel it". I think it might be a power ballad of some sort, except that instead of a Panzer-ass hair-metal vocalist ululating about fighting the Dragon of Intemperance so that he can get out of the county drunk tank and back to you, babe (which is me in this case), it's got a more Roger Daltrey–style vocalist doin' his thang. Someone you can really get into those "yeah"s, those "I fucking feel it"s.

I can't deny it. I think it needs work. It's got potential. Here's how I see the song going. You've got your lead-in. The volume's on the crescendo, maybe there's some distortion, nothing threatening—it's in a classic-rock sort of vein. "I fucking feel it! Alright! I feel it in my gut!" sings the singer. It's an intro kind of thing. The first verse begins, maybe the volume increase has tempered off. "I humped doors for you. I humped whores"—a catch in the singer's voice, this is very emotional—"for you". Is that a nylon-string guitar I hear? I hope not. I had more respect for Kamala. I respected Kamala enough to think that there would be no nylon-string guitars or flutes in this song.

Kamala, don't let me down.

The rest of the song, I have no vision of how it will go. No hearing. Kamala, these scribblings, they are not a song. I like the image. It's an arresting image. But it's not tuneful. It's not—music. A diminuendo, then nothing. A diminuendo unto nothing.

I understand you're editing your draft. That's good. I'm glad to hear that, Kamala. I know your draft can improve. I know you can improve—your draft. I know that when it's out of the draft stage, it will be beautiful. It will be transformed. It will look back on its prior forms, its cast-off notebook pages written on and written over, from which it emerged, and smile. "How foolish I was then", it will think. "How different I am now". How different will we all be, Kamala! You, and I, and your song, and the world!

Come back, Kamala.

I miss you, and your backrubs, and your happy place.

I need you.

Please.

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