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Taj Easton (3:00)

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Taj Easton (3:55)

This is Risk, the show where people tell true stories they never thought they'd dare to share. I'm Taj Easton, and this is Trouble Brewing in the background. Now it's just trouble. They're called Trouble, not Trouble brewing. It's a band. And we're calling this week's episode Darkness Within. While Kevin's way, I can get away with most anything. I was gonna play all metal music all episode, but I am afraid he might forever rescind his confidence and trust in me if I did. So I thought I might just get away with a bit of metal. So without further ado, I present to you the intense and unrelenting sounds of Napalm Death with the song you Suffer. That was Napalm Death with their hit song youg Suffer. Anyway, Darkness Within. I imagine you all have experienced a bit of that. Hmm. This week, we're gonna hear two very different stories from two very different people encountering some darker aspect of human nature, and then things get weird and uncool. In a little bit, we're gonna hear from Rocky Ross, who will be playing with our emotions like a giddy, oblivious child with a scared kitten. But before that, a story from Ezra Homeland. Ezra recorded this story as part of an unhinged storytelling rampage that he's been on throughout the Pacific Northwest. If you're an adventure seeking, pleasure loving masochist with excellent taste and you live anywhere near Oregon or Washington, I'd strongly encourage you to get your shit together and check Ezra out. Ezra's story that we're about to play features rough sex, domestic abuse, and generally inane human behavior. So if that's not something you want to hear right now, we've got lots of other stories you could listen to, some of which are actually somewhat tame, but most of them are going to have some other concern for you to grapple with. If you're listening to this with kids, God help you. That's. That's really Brave, but also they're going to have to learn about all this stuff sometime and, you know, don't shelter them. It's just going to make it harder when they do find out what the world's really like. So maybe, you know, bring your kids if you're brave, but they'll probably be traumatized anyway. Here's Ezra Holmlen now with the story we call do you live with your momma?

Ezra Holmland (6:35)

So I was 23 years old, and for the first time in my life, I'd moved in with a girlfriend for legal reasons, let's call her Kate. So Kate and I had moved in together. We'd gotten an apartment in Southeast Portland. Now, at the time, I was working as a cook at this high end downtown restaurant. One of those exposed kitchens so people can see you working one of those kind of kitchens. And Kate, she was a bit of a hippie, you know, studied naturopathic medicine in college. She had a trunk full of tinctures. But at the time, she worked as a nanny for this rich couple over in Northwest Portland. So the first few months of living together, things are going great, absolutely great. I'm enjoying it. I'm like, yeah, I'm living with a woman. This is working out. I like this, I like this. And then I come home from work one evening, like three months into it or so, 10 o'clock in the evening or so, and I walk in. When I walk inside, there's a chair in the middle of the living room, you know, strategically placed. And I look over and she's sitting at the kitchen table and she's staring at me and she says, sit down, sit down. I'm like, okay. So I go over and I sit down and I'm trying to figure out, like, what I had done wrong. I'm racking my brain. I'm racking my brain, like, I can't think of anything that I've done wrong. And she says, so, Thatcher. And she waits for a response. Now, Thatcher, Thatcher was a character that I used in my journal. I used to write in my journal about things that had happened to me. All the crazy shit that happens in this life, but I wrote about it in third person. Get myself a little bit of distance, you know, so I could help make sense of things. I look at her, I'm like, hey, that's my journal. What are you doing reading my journal? That's private. But she does not really care about that because she is not happy with some of the things that Thatcher had done. Now, I didn't write chronologically. I Didn't write what happened yesterday or anything like that. So, you know, the things that they were out of order. So she says to me, so, you like cheating on me, Thatcher? You like cheating on me? Is that what you like? And I'm like, oh, my God. I was like, hey, that's my journal. That's private. But she's not interested in that. And she stands up and she says, so, Thatcher, you like fucking girls with multiple personalities? Is that what you like, Thatcher? Is that what you like? And she runs at me, knocks me back on my chair onto the floor, and she's on top of me, and she is going to pound town, but not the good kind of pound town. So this is where the story gets a little weird. So she's on top of me, and her fists are just raining down on me. But this night that she is referencing, this journal entry, it was so traumatic. It was such a weird night for me that I can't help it. I have a little PTSD flashback. So this journal entry that she is referencing, it happened when I was 22, before I'd even met Kate. So I was at a bar one evening, of course, and I'd met this woman at a bar, extremely attractive, and she was talking to me, and I was like, this is great. This is great. You know, And I'm talking to her, but my spidey senses were up because, you know, she was just a little off. I would ask her questions like, where are you from? She's like, I'm from Quebec, but I'm from here now. Little things like that. I'm like, okay, okay, it's a little weird, but when you're 22 and you're drinking, you know what I mean? You let things slide. And she said a bunch of other strange things, but, you know, I just kind of let it slide. So when she invited me home, you know, of course I said yes. So we walked the 10, 12 blocks back to her place, and we get back to her place, and we get in front of the house, and she stops me, and she's like, hey, I know it's a little awkward, but I still live with my mom. We have to be super quiet. We can't wake her up. It'll just ruin everything. We can't wake her up. I was like, okay, okay. You know, it reminded me of, like, being back in high school. I thought it would be, like, sneaking in made it more exciting. So we sneak into the house. She quietly opens the front door, and we tiptoe upstairs, and we get to a Bedroom on the far back of the house. And she quietly opens the bedroom door. She quietly closes the bedroom door behind her. And then she's standing there in front of me. It's dark, but the room is slightly illuminated. There's a little streetlight coming in from a street lamp. And she's standing five, six feet away from. From me. And then she just takes off all of her clothes, gets fully naked in front of me. And internally, I'm like, yes, yes, yes. You know, I'm really excited about that. And then she goes over and she climbs into the bed. So, you know, I assume that that's an invitation. I think most people would assume that that's an invitation. So I take off all my clothes, you know, and I climb into the bed next to. And she's laying there with her back kind of facing toward me. She's facing the wall. And I go in for a little spoon action, you know, and I put my hand on her thigh and gently stroke her thigh. And then I hear, don't touch me. So I roll back over, and I'm laying there looking up at the ceiling. Like, did I just hear a demonic voice? Did I just hear a demonic voice? I'm like, no. It's like, I'm gonna start replaying things. I'm like, o got naked in front of me. She climbed into the bed. Like, I'm. You know, I'm not prone to auditory hallucinations or anything. So I'm just. I'm laying there, I'm trying to figure out, you know, remember, I'm 22. I've had a few beers, you know, and I just want to make sure that I hadn't invented everything just to be sure. And I make the mistake. I roll back over, you know, and I put my hand on her thigh again just to be sure. Just to be sure. Big mistake. Big mistake. Because as soon as I do that, she pops up, she has her knees pin my shoulders down. She's on top of me. Her hair is hanging down across her breast, and she's looking down at me, and she has a completely different face. It's just changed. And she looks down at me, and she says this in a completely different voice. Completely different voice. All right, we're going to do this, but you need to understand two things. One, I never want to see you again. Two, I want you to come inside of me. Now, nobody's ever said that to me before. It's usually not like a typical line on a first date. And she's on top of me, you know, and she's grinding, getting me all excited and I can't help it, I can't help it. I find myself getting a little excited, you know, by. I just can't help it. So she takes my cock and just jams inside of her. And then she just starts piston fucking me. Like an engine just revved up, just fucking going to town, just. And I'm laying there like, oh, Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. You know? And after a couple minutes I'm laying there, I'm like, slow down, slow down. But she's not interested in anything that I have to say and she just keeps going. So a few minutes into it, you know, I was like, oh, I found myself getting close and I try to do like the slip out, you know, but she's having none of that, man, none of that. Takes my cock and just jams it right back inside her. And she's like, now it just keeps pissed and fucking me. I'm laying there like, ah, Jesus. And then it's over. So when it's over, when I finish, she rolls back off and she goes back to like facing the wall. And I'm laying there in the bed like, oh, God. It's like, what just happened? What just happened? I'm still trying to process if I heard a demonic voice at the beginning. And I'm laying there like, oh, Jesus. So like a few minutes of laying there, I don't know what came over me, but I just wanted like a little physical companionship, a little bit of comfort. And man, I make the mistake. I go in for a little cuddle. Big mistake, big mistake. Because as soon as I do that, going for a little spoon action, boom. She pops back up and does the exact same thing. Pins me down and says the exact same thing verbatim, like nothing had happened before. Says the exact same thing in the exact same voice. Alright, we're gonna do this, but you need to understand two things. One, I never want to see you again. And you guys remember rule number two. I'm just laying there, you know, and this time, this time I just let it happen. I don't even fight it, you know. And she does the exact same thing. Just, just piston fucking me. I'm just laying there like, oh, Jesus, Jesus. You know? And this time when it's over, you know, when it's all done, she does the same thing. Rolls off, faces the wall. And I'm just laying there just trying to process, trying to process. As I'm laying there, I make a terrible, terrible mistake. I fall asleep. So I wake up in the morning. And when I wake up in the morning, you know, rub my eyes like where I was like, oh. And it all comes back to me. And I look over and she's cuddled up next to me, all soft. And she's got a completely different face. Like her eyes have changed. Everything has changed. And she said, good morning. And this little kid, like a seven year old voice, I'm like, oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. You know, shame just starts washing over me. And then she says, do you live with your mama? I was like, oh, oh, no. I was like, no, I don't live with my mama. She's like, why don't you live with your mama? Like, because I grew up and I moved out of the house. She says, oh, I think everyone should live with their mama. I was like, oh, okay, okay. And then there's a noise in the hallway. And I watch her face change. You know, it goes from this soft little baby face to, like something different. She gets serious, her eyes change, she stands up, she starts getting dressed, and she walks out into the hallway, you know, and at this point, I sit up, you know, just this icky, dirty feeling is washing over me in regret. And I start putting my clothes on and I hear them arguing. It's her mother, and they're arguing in the hallway. And her mother's like, what were you doing? You were going out to bars. You know how dangerous that is. And then they start arguing about her not taking her medication. I'm like, oh, Jesus, Jesus. So I'm putting my shoes on and her mother walks into the room. She's like, good morning. Good morning. And then the mom opens it, you know, has the door, and she's like, you know, leave. So I walk out of the house, you know, and I walk outside. And when I get outside, you know, the sun is extremely bright that morning. You know, vampire status. It's just like, Jesus. So I come to you out of this PTSD daydream and Kate's on top of me, you know, her fists are just raining down on me. And I realized that, like, I actually deserve a little bit of this beating. You know, I should have left. I should have left as soon as she said the two rules. I should have just left. I should have stood up, like, no, left. But I didn't. I stayed. So I deserved a little bit of that beating. But at the same time, you know, I realized, like, I still needed a face. You know, you have to have a face in this life to interact with people. It really helps if you had a face, you know, So I have to put a stop to it. So I grab her arms and I roll her over, you know, and blood is, like dripping off my face down onto Kate, you know, And I was like, are you done? Are you done? And she kind of comes to snaps out of her rage. So, you know, I stand up. She kind of gives me the nod, like, yeah, I'm done. So I go and I go to the bedroom and I start packing up my clothes. I put them all into a basket, and then I grab my journal, you know, and I grab all my fishing gear and everything. And then I call my brother. My brother, he lives like half mile away or something. I was like, hey, man, can I come stay with you tonight? Had a bit of a rough night. And he's like, yeah, yeah, sure. So he comes and picks me up. I'm standing on the curb. He has one look at my face and he's like, oh, shit. So I get in the car and I tell him the whole story, and he starts laughing. You know, he's got a bit of a six sense of humor, like I do. So I spend the night at my brother's place. So the next morning, you know, I go to work, and the head chef, he has one look at me and he's like, yeah, you can have the day off because you did not want someone who looked like me cooking your food. Remember, it was an exposed kitchen. He's like, no, go home. So I went home. I went to my brother's place and I sat down on the couch and I went over and I grabbed my journal. Figure it was time for a journal entry, you know, And I was flipping through the pages, and it was like, thatcher, Thatcher, Thatcher. And as soon as I got to a blank page for the first time, I started with the word I because I realized if I was ever going to start making sense of, like, all the crazy shit that happens in this world, the first thing that I needed to do was start writing myself into my own stories. We'll be right back.

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Taj Easton (21:48)

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Box right now at Jack. Every bite's a big deal.

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Switching to H and R Block is easy. Just drag and drop your last return.

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It's better with Block.

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Did you ever wonder what it's like to live alone, hidden in the woods, not speaking to a single soul for 30 years? Or wander the desert, uncover a hidden well and dive to the bottom of the deepest water hole for 2,000 miles? The Snapdragon podcast takes you with amazing stories told by the people who live them with an original soundscape that drops you directly into their shoes. Snap judgment. Listen and subscribe wherever you get your podcasts.

Ezra Holmland (23:19)

We're back.

David Bowie (23:28)

Where you go when I don't I've killed my world and I've killed my time so where do I go? What will I see? I see many people coming after me so where you going to? I don't mind so I will follow you wherever you go if you're up with hands still open to me Strangers on this room we are we are not two, we are one.

Taj Easton (24:20)

This is risk. This is the kinks behind me now. That was Ezra Homeland. He's wild. All of Ezra's stories are so wild you will not believe. It's like, how did all of this stuff happen to you? Bless him. Ezra's amazing and he's totally unhinged and so funny. It's great. Ezra wanted me to tell you all that he is working on a long story about living as a fugitive in Brazil. See what I'm saying about his wildlife? You can see that on his website, ezraholmlend.com or on YouTube. He also performs monthly at the Gorge Speakeasy in Hood River, Oregon. So if you're anywhere around there, do yourself a favor and check out Ezra's monthly shows. You can find ezra online@ezraholmland.com I'm sitting here looking at a list of notes that we've received from different Patreon patrons. Honestly, it's really emotional to look at these. For example, here's one by John. I so appreciate the content and exposing me, a middle class white guy, to voices I would not usually get to hear. We would be ancient history if it wasn't for our patrons, the folks who give us their hard earned monies every month so that we might continue to be the fabulously weird haven for exiles, outsiders, queens, miscreants and regular old people that we are. If you don't have the means to share your money with us, please, for the love of God, don't do it. But if you do, however, want to share some, and that's not going to be super rough for you, we would be extremely grateful and would have to spend a lot less time tossing and turning, sweating and screaming in our sleep for fear that we will all be lost forever. Thank you, John. I am super glad to hear that the show's had that effect on you. Be like John if you can. I mean, don't be a middle class white guy if that's not your thing. But do support us if it's within your means. If it's not, please keep your money. Okay, Rocky Ross, she's the next storyteller. She's a professional storyteller, so you're in good hands. She's amazing. The story is fucked up and it's great. It's kind of intense, but, you know, life's intense, so it's representative of that. Here's Rocky Ross now with the story we call Eye of the Beholder.

David Bowie (26:47)

Strangers on this road we are. But we are not two. We are one.

Rocky Ross (27:23)

February 1986, just after Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro. We're driving down the sun baked Atlantic coastline. Me in the backseat enjoying the Brazilian breeze through the car's open windows. And Lucia, our vivacious Brazilian tour guide, is at the wheel chatting up a storm with Madeline, a visiting American girl who I barely knew, in the front passenger seat. Now, Lucia didn't speak any English and Madeline spoke no Portuguese. But my Portuguese was already good enough to be the conduit for their conversation. And I was really proud of that because I'd only moved to Rio about six months prior to Teach English. I loved my job teaching, but my real passion, the reason I moved to Rich Trio, was to learn Portuguese fluently and dance samba till dawn. And that's exactly what I was doing when the three of us came together pretty randomly for this carefree road trip in Lucia's car. Madeline and I had danced in the same samba troupe back in San Francisco, but she was always aloof with me when we weren't really friends. I only knew that her professional career as a ballet dancer had been derailed by a freak accident with battery acid that left the whole right side of her body badly scarred. Still, Madeline was an amazing dancer with this innate sense of timing. She was sensual and lithe and seeming almost to glide across the floor whenever she moved. Madeleine had come with the whole samba troupe for Carnaval and we all partied together. And when they returned to San Francisco, she stayed on to tour Rio for a few days on her own. Madeline's golden hair, milky white skin and liquid blue eyes made her a standout in multicultural Brazil. She was just really different. She turned heads, people stared, but not always in a good way. So after a few days with no one to talk to or understand her in the big city, Madeleine called me, proposing we take an overnight trip to this little seaside town of Paraty, which was about a three hour drive south of Rio. I could hear the loneliness in her voice. That she was reaching out to me, wanting my company. Made me see Madeline in a different light. More vulnerable, less haughty. And that softened me toward her. Plus, I was always down for an adventure. So up. Of course, I said, yes, let's do it. Walking down Copacabana Avenue, we picked the first storefront travel agency we came across and stepped inside to book an excursion on one of those luxury air conditioned buses. The first travel agent to call us over to her desk was Lucia. She was a middle aged woman with big hair, big jewelry and an even bigger smile. Lucia was also very entrepreneurial. She saw an opportunity to earn dollars on the side because the dollar was really strong in Brazil at that time. Lucia offered to give Madeline and I a guided tour of Paraty in her own car instead of the bus. She could get us a discount rate at a really nice hotel and the whole package would be way less than the fancy bus tour. So Madeline and I look at each other and think, oh, okay, yeah, we can save some money. And there's nothing better than traveling with a local who knows the land. So let's do it. The next day, Lucy picks us up in her old Stick shift. It's literally a rust bucket. Like, the seats are wobbly, the seat belts don't work, but we don't care. We're just thrilled to get on the road. The drive south through the Brazilian countryside is wonderful. Lucy and Madeline are laughing and connecting, with me translating between them all the way. We get to Paraty and tour the historic town. Our hotel rooms are perfect, and that night we all feast and toast each other at this great local restaurant and dance club. Then there's kisses on both cheeks all around. When Lucia decides she's had it for the evening, she goes back to her hotel room while Madeline and I stay for the samba dancing. Then we finally stumble back into our hotel room, just down the hall from Lucia's, exhilarated and exhausted, and fall asleep. In the morning, we meet up at the hotel dining room for their big breakfast buffet. Madeline and I pile our plates high with food, but Lucia barely eats. Her chatty warmth has turned icy cold. She eyes Madeleine with suspicion and keeps her back turned to her and speaks only to me in Portuguese, Quesita con es amosa. There's something strange about this girl. I try to brush her off, but Lucy is insisting. Posse no pesebe. Don't you see it? Lucy keeps muttering in Portuguese with her back turned to Madeline. Madeline can't understand what Lucy is saying, but she can read her body language. Madeline asks me, what's going on? I said, I don't know. Then Lucia jumps up from the table and commands, che gue lu cajo infinci minutos. Vamos el borra. Be at the car in 20 minutes. We're leaving. I thought we'd have a whole rest of the day to to tour Paraty, but Lucia was our ride. So we pile our backpacks into Lucia's clunker for the drive back to Rio. This time Lucy insists Madeline sit in the back seat and I sit in the front seat. I make small talk as we head out onto the highway. Lucy's eyes are darting between the road and the rear view mirror where she keeps staring at Madeline in the back seat. And I'm freaking out because Lucy's looking in the rear view mirror more than at the road in front of her. And then her eyes fix on Madeline in the rearview mirror and she yells, el atta mitando olio mao. She's giving me the evil eye. And her voice starts growing shrill. She's a witch. She's giving me the evil eye. I I tried to distract Lucia with questions about her family and music and politics. I tell Madeline, just. Just keep looking out the window at the scenery. Don't look in the mirror. Don't look in the mirror. I don't translate all the paranoid things Lucy is saying about her, but Madeline can sense it. She keeps her face pressed against the window and slumps down in her seat. She's trying to make herself smaller. Then she whispers, do you think we're gonna make it? I tried to say something reassuring, but my whole body's like a squirming nervous jangle cause Lucy's driving at breakneck speed, bent on getting back to Rio as fast as she can to be rid of Madeline. I close my eyes just for a moment of respite, trying to figure out what had changed. They had been so friendly the day before. What was it about Madeleine that made Lucy think she was a witch? Was it the way she moved? Her jagged scars? Her alabaster skin? Brazil is a very Catholic country and many Brazilians practice condomble as sort of parallel religion of African origin with roots in the occult. Maybe that's why a witch. But it didn't really matter. We just had to survive. I kept trying to calm Lucia down, but for the next two hours she just wailed and gripped the wheel and drove faster and faster, sweat dripping down her brow. Just as we get onto downtown Rio's elevated five lane freeway, there's a clap of thunder and the clouds unleash this tropical downpour. Lucia screams, El atrocia tempestade. She brought the storm. In seconds the freeway's flooded like, almost like a half foot of water. But nobody slows down. Cars are speeding and hurling sheets of rainwater on our windshield. We can barely see the car in front of us. Lucia hits the brakes. They go all the way down to the floor. She pumps them frantically and tries again. Nothing. And then she shrieks. Abrucha corto meos frius el achemi mata. The witch cut my brakes. She wants to kill me. We can't see through the windshield, can't stop, can't maneuver over to the right shoulder. We're flying along in the fast lane, trapped. I'm sure. This is it. It's over. It's over. Lucia downshifts, putting the clutch in low gear and takes her foot off the gas. The car begins to slow and finally rolls to a full stop against the low concrete divider separating us from traffic. Speeding in the opposite direction, we we jump out, waving our arms, crying for help. The metal husk of that car had given us some kind of protection, but now we were Totally exposed in the fast lane. Brakes are screeching, cars swerving, metal scraping. Drivers cursing from their windows were soaked in water and oil and flailing, begging someone to stop. Finally, a taxi driver does. Madeline and I jump into his backseat. I beg Lucia to come with, but she waves us off in exasperation, not wanting to be around Madeline one second longer. We ride in muted relief back to Madeline's hotel and say goodbye. The driver drops me at my apartment. The next day, Madeline flies back to San Francisco. I go back to teaching English at the American school. About four days later, my phone rings. A young man introduces himself as Lucia's son, Paolo Qui Bon. Paolo House Lucia. Did she get her car towed off the freeway? Paolo pauses. Then in Portuguese, he says, yes, she got the car towed. But when my mother got home, she couldn't stop ranting about your friend Madeleine. She kept saying Madeline gave her the evil eye. She went on and on about being cursed. She was so upset we couldn't get her to talk about anything else. And Paolo swallowed hard. Ojie seguin si ela sofreo un ataqui ji corazan y mojeo. The next day she had a heart attack and died. Paulo sinto muinto. I'm so sorry for your loss. Oh, but. But please, you must know Madeline did not say or do anything out of the ordinary on that trip. She was just a regular American girl from San Francisco. Your mom got very worked up. I don't know why. Paolo had hoped I could share something to help him make sense of it all. I couldn't. He thanked me and we hung up. My mind raced back to my last glimpse of Lucia through the taxi's rear window, clinging to the hood of her broke down car, drenched in rain, her face contorted in fe. Do I believe in the evil eye? No, no, no. I'm still an evidence based, science loving nerd. I think maybe Lucia had an underlying heart condition. I'll never know. I'll never know. What I do know is that Lucia credited Madeline with a power she didn't have. And that belief drove Lucia to a place of such stress that her heart couldn't bear it. The mind body connection is a powerful thing. I saw it. And I know it really does matter where we focus our thoughts on good or ill, love or hate, darkness or light.

David Bowie (42:12)

Sa.

Rocky Ross (43:29)

I can stare for a thousand.

Taj Easton (43:35)

Years.

Rocky Ross (43:37)

Colder than the moon it's been so long. Feel, feel my blood Enraged. It's just the fear of losing you. Don't you know my name? You've been so long, and I've been putting on fire.

Taj Easton (44:42)

That's pretty much. Well, that's most of the show. This is David Bowie behind me now, and you just heard from Rocky Rawls. It's funny. I was Rocky's story coach, and I don't know shit about storytelling compared to Rocky, so that was a funny experience of me trying to give her advice about something she's been a professional at for decades. That's very silly. Rocky is the host of the reboot story Storytelling Reimagined. It's a live story show on California's central coast. You can check out the Reboot YouTube channel if you want to hear more of Rocky's fabulous stories. Folks, reach out if you got anything to tell us. You know, we're making this every week, but we don't. What are you guys doing? We don't hear from you all that much. You know, Darkness within is always just a hair's breadth away from absolutely overtaking my being. So if you got anything uplifting, anything that might nurture the light, let us know. Find us online. The Internet is often, you know, more like the darkness without. But it's not totally hopeless, I think. I don't know. Oh, my God. Thank you guys. Thank you all so much. We do so many shows. There's gonna be another show on Thursday, then on Tuesday and Tuesday and Thursday, Wednesday and Tuesday and Thursday and Wednesday and Tuesday and Thursday. But that is the future, and today is the day. Take a risk.

David Bowie (46:28)

SA.

Ezra Holmland (46:56)

So often the.

Taj Easton (46:57)

Most beautiful things in life are over so quickly, we hardly even notice them. But with technology, we can slow down time to notice all of the intricacies contained within a moment of bliss.

David Bowie (47:49)

SA.