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First published January 19, 2016
"I'm too loud, I can't help it." "Good," he says. "Loud is how I love you."










"Writing music is personal, intimate even, and you have to be pretty comfortable to be able to do it with other people. When you find someone you work this well with, it’s rare and special and it’s more than friendship. I know this sounds dumb, but it’s kind of like finding a unicorn. If you found a unicorn, you would take care of it, protect it. You’d keep it safe. You definitely wouldn’t fuck it, right?
“What is this thing we’re doing?” I whisper. I’m not sure I mean to say it out loud, because I am pretty nervous to put an actual label to it. “I don’t even know what to call it.”
He touches his lips to mine again, all soft and sweet.
“Just call it awesome,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go.
I was just going to be a nun of rock ’n’ roll, only with more hand jobs.
What makes these stories so good, so vital, is not that they are or aren’t real or relevant, but that when you read them they make you feel like you lived them. They give you an experience that you just can’t otherwise have. That’s why books like these are so powerful, why they mean something. I can’t live in tribal Africa and experience what happens when the Christians come. I can’t be a black slave at the end of the Civil War. But I can read Beloved. Fuck, it’s the least I can do on that front. Good stories do something like what good rock and roll does, they make you feel something. Sometimes it’s something new. Sometimes it’s something familiar, but you feel it for a new reason. And I do realize that listening to good rock and roll and reading good books don’t by themselves put food on the table. They don’t put a roof over your head. But they give you a reason to keep drawing air. Survival just for survival’s sake is fine if you’re a virus. A microbe. If you’re human, there should be a point to survival, and if love and art aren’t it, then I guess I don’t know what is.

Loud is how I love you,
Loud is how I know you’re there.
Loud so I don’t lose you,
Because I’d know the sound of you anywhere.
“What is this thing we’re doing?” I whisper. I’m not sure I mean to say it out loud, because I am pretty nervous to put an actual label to it. “I don’t even know what to call it.”
He touches his lips to mine again, all soft and sweet.
“Just call it awesome,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”
Stay loud so I don’t lose you.
I will follow the sound of you anywhere. -T



