Matter Chris Chandler I looked past the curvature of the earth into the heavens and the myriad of stars and galaxies and planets all swirling expanding and contracting just beyond the dust on my windshield - and I shouted up to God himself, "I MATTER!" 

And God responded, "Why, yes. Yes you are." ************** and at that point I realized I really am one with God - only - once you become one with God do you then have to pray to yourself? I hope not because - i’m the kind of rebel that thinks on those rare occasions when ever I am in charge - i feel a need to question myself. Question authority? I find myself looking in the mirror shouting, “Don’t let ME tell me what to do!” Personally, I always thought that what the bible meant when it said we were created in God’s Image is that he created us while looking in the mirror and there fore did it all backwards... explains a lot... Thats what I don’t get - God made us in his image yet he made all of different - everyone is different, well except for (Insert) ************** it's all one big Merry Go Round... the days, the years, the seasons - they go round... we wave to our parents as we pass... they wave back... and then they are gone - we see people on their high horse... a brass ring just out of reach... they reach - and down they go again... the band has been replaced by a calliope that makes "Entrance of the Gladiators" sound like "Pop Goes the Weasel..." no one seems to mind... and in the end we wind up right back where we started. ************** Sometimes we dream - sometimes we dream big - which is why I rolled over this morning and mashed the snooze button saying, "I must keep the dream alive." In the dream - there was traffic. Lots of traffic. and on the other side of the road there was this chicken taunting me - saying “Who are you to question my motives?” I started to cross the street - and then changed my mind wondering if I was as indecisive as I used to be... and I found myself taunting the chicken... Just because I changed my mind doesn’t mean I’m Not Still Right! and the chicken taunted back... It was the rooster that came first! ******* and the reason I did not cross the road... ... was I wanted to go down it... Goin’ Down TheRoad Feelin’ Bad with a rubber chicken hanging from my windshield... I don’t know about you but... I would rather hang with someone who is looking for answers than someone who has found them. And whether or not I have ever found any answers I do not remember. Having a bad memory s the only thing that gives me a clear conscious. Sometimes my conscious bothers me - but my conscious is just another one of those voices in my head - like God - Yet, just because I’m pretty sure the voices in my head aren’t real doesn’t mean I shouldn’t listen to them. I mean, I listen to the news and I am pretty sure that isn’t real. ************** The voices is in our head may be all we have - sure, God created the stars, but who created the constellations? Who sat beneath the stars and told a story -as someone else listened and painted the the pictures in the sky. and those images stayed in his head till he caried them to a cave and painted it. and some one else saw the picture - and told another story - and every picture tells a thousand stories and every story paints a thousand pictures - you do the math... ... count the stars... and the math distills the story down to another picture - which is totally abstract - and the universe becomes a Jackson Paulick - and god is up there randomly spilling paint... throwing paint - carefully placing tight detailed lines drawing an arrow to a thought - and the thought is boiled down to a haiku: Haiku are obscure
/Often hard to understand
/Vocabulary ************* There is a truth...... and that truth is... The power of good is greater than the power of evil - just not by very much. it is a struggle - the future is - and it can be predicted - because what is ahead of us depends upon what is inside of us

Matter By Chris Chandler I looked past the curvature of the earth... ...into the heavens... ...past the myriad of stars and galaxies and planets all swirling expanding and contracting just beyond the dust on my windshield - and I shouted up to God himself, "I MATTER!" 

 And God responded, "Why, yes. Yes, you are." At that point I realized I really am one with God - only - once you become one with God do you then have to pray to yourself? I hope not because - I’m the kind of rebel that thinks that on those rare occasions when ever I am in charge - I feel a need to question my own authority. I find myself looking in the mirror shouting, “Don’t let ME tell me what to do!” Personally, I always thought that what the bible meant when it said we were created in God’s image is that he created us while looking in the mirror and therefore did it all backwards... explains a lot. That’s what I don’t get. God made us in his image yet he made all of different. Everyone is different (well except for me.) So, that must mean God is... well... different. Just like every snowflake - and every speck of dust on my windshield... Just like the planets, the heavens, the stars... our lives... it's all one big Merry Go Round... the days, the years, the seasons... they go round... we wave to our parents as we pass... they wave back... and then... they are gone. We see people on their high horse... a brass ring just out of reach... they reach.. but down they go again. The band has been replaced by a calliope that makes "Entrance of the Gladiators" sound like "Pop Goes the Weasel..." no one seems to mind... and in the end we wind up right back where we started. Sometimes we dream. Sometimes we dream big. Which is why I rolled over this morning and mashed the snooze button saying, "I must keep the dream alive." In the dream I was standing on the side of the road. There was traffic, lots of traffic. On the other side of the road there was this chicken taunting me - saying “Who are you to question my motives?” I started to cross the street, and then changed my mind wondering if I was as indecisive as I used to be. I shouted back, “Just because I changed my mind doesn’t mean I’m not still right.” The reason I did not cross the road... was I wanted to go down it. “Going down the road feeling bad,” with a rubber chicken hanging from my rearview. I don’t know about you, but I would rather hang with someone who is looking for answers than someone who has found them. Whether or not I have ever found any answers I do not remember because having a bad memory is the only thing that gives me a clear conscious. Sometimes my conscious bothers me - but my conscious is just another one of those voices in my head - like God. Yet, just because I’m pretty sure the voices in my head aren’t real doesn’t mean I shouldn’t listen to them. I mean, I listen to the news and I am pretty sure that isn’t real. The voices is in our head may be all we have. Sure, God created the stars, but who created the constellations? Who sat beneath the stars and told a story as someone else listened painting pictures in the sky. Those images stayed in his head till he carried them to a cave and painted them on the walls. Someone else saw the picture - and told another story. Every picture tells a thousand stories and every story paints a thousand pictures. You do the math. Count the stars. When you do, the math distills the story down to another picture - which is totally abstract - and the universe becomes a giant Jackson Pollock. God is up there randomly spilling paint...deliberately throwing paint... carefully placing tight detailed lines... drawing an arrow to a thought... and the thought is boiled down to a haiku. The Haiku is the truth, and the truth is: Haikus are obscure
 Often hard to understand
 Refrigerator The truth is: The power of good is greater than the power of evil - just not by very much. It is a struggle... the future is... but it can be predicted... because what is ahead of us depends solely upon what is inside us.

Chorus: And each time I feel like this inside, There's one thing i wanna know: What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? Yeah! What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? Verse 1 As I walk through This wicked world Lookin' for light in the darkness of insanity. I ask myself Is all hope lost? Is there only pain and hatred, and misery? verse 2 As I walk on through troubled times My spirit gets so down hearted sometimes. Where are the strong? And who are the trusted? And where is the harmony? Sweet harmony. I say Comedy, You say Tragedy I say Tragedy You say Comedy Tragedy Comedy Comedy Tragedy And each time I feel like this inside, There's one thing i wanna know: What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? Yeah! What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? People say we have a race problem in this country. I say yea, it is a race problem because YOU call it a race. It is a race problem because ya start off one group of people 20 miles behind the starting line and call it a race. And as soon as they start to catch up and ya slap on a fashionable set of leg irons and still call it a race... It’s not a race problem - it is a problem with the race. You wonder why impoverished youth will kill each other over a pair of running shoes - it is because you call it a race. But I say this is not a race - because the world is round - and if it were a race who ever is in first place is slightly behind the guy in last... and if I were you I would be looking over my shoulder... My Name is Michael Brown. As I walk through This wicked world Lookin' for light in the darkness of insanity. I ask myself Is all hope lost? Is there only pain and hatred, and misery? Comedy Tragedy I am Stephon Clark Comedy Tragedy I am Oscar Grant Comedy Tragedy I am Rodney King Tragedy Comedy Can’t We all just get along... Stick and beat the hell out of each other? And each time i feel like this inside, There's one thing i wanna know: What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? ohhhh What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? You say there is a race problem I say there is a problem with the Race. All over the country the poor are disenfranchised by persistent redistricting - known as Gerrymandering. When I look at a congressional district map it looks like a giant Rorshak test --- and when i look at that Rorshak test. I see nothing but a giant Col Sanders standing next to a tiny Uncle Ben and an even tinier Aunt Jamima. It is not a race problem, it is a problem with the race. Mississippi has 40% black population and 8 % of it’s elected officials are black. and don’t get me started on election reform, PAC money... Citizens United... Who can run against that? It is not a race problem it is a problem with the race. As I walk on through troubled times My spirit gets so down hearted sometimes. Where are the strong? And who are the trusted? And where is the harmony? Sweet harmony. If it is heritage not hate - show me just how much heritage you have by...being a southern gentleman .. and apologizing. Being a southern gentleman is the only part of my heritage I don’t hate... I am southern, too. My ancestors too fought in the Civil War... I know first hand we have a long tradition of... surrendering... So come on Mississippi - take that flag down... Let us take those confederate monuments down! Georgia did it - even south Carolina... Let us be gentleman about it. Why don’t we do it? Because, you know as I do... if it had been a lone black guy in Charleston, South Carolina shooting white people in a poor white church... The one thing we’d have is... ...gun control. ....If you want real gun control in this country, the way to obtain it would be to form “a well regulated militia” of poor people! protecting themselves against the thievery of the rich. But as long as it remains poor people killing poor people - for chump change - they’ll let you keep your guns... But I don’t follow your logic on gun control.. isn’t an armed street gang alot closer to a “Well regulated Militia?” than a neighborhood watch group... My Name is... Trevon Martin 'cause each time i feel it slippin' away, just makes me wanna cry. What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? Yeah! What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? It’s not a race problem - it is a problem with the race. 
One in three black men will wind up in state or federal prison - 1 in 25 whites will go there - and of those whites that go to prison 75% live under the poverty line. Make sure you curb your dog, people gotta sleep on these streets... Today in America, we have a greater income gap today than there was in South Africa at the heart of apartheid... And that income gap has grown by 40% in my lifetime. We are moving backwards as The Supreme Court demolishes the voting rights laws we fought so hard for during the so called civil-rights-era. Tragedy / Comedy I am Clarence Thomas Comedy / Tragedy I am Sandra Bland 'cause each time i feel it slippin' away, just makes me wanna cry. What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? Yeah! What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? Yeah! What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding? It is not a black problem or a white problem, it is a class problem... but systemic racial prejudice has kept far too many blacks below the poverty line... So that it is not just a class problem... It is an American problem. But ladies and gentleman... I have a dream! I dream of a day... when a man is judged by the contents of his character.... ...and not the content of his wallet. It is not a race Problem. It is a problem with the race.

Karat and the Stick (Eli Whitney was an A-Hole) / Maggie’s Farm Chris Chandler / Bob Dylan “Eli Whitney was an A-hole!” It’s not true... not even close... but I heard it all my life... Well over two centuries after he started his little business in a friend’s garage, people were still disparaging his name...... ...acting as if they owed him money or something... ...or maybe they did.... Just like Pandora owes me money... Since Pandora launched in 2007, it grew from a garage business to more than 60 million users worth billions of dollars. Revenue has doubled every year since. That’s why... I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more No, I aint gonna work on Maggie's farm no more Well, I wake up in the morning Fold my hands and pray for rain I got a head full of ideas That are drivin' me insane It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more. When I first conceived of this piece... I wanted that to be the opening line... “Eli Whitney was an ass-hole.... “ So I kept it... It doesn’t make me a good writer - just loyal to bad ideas... such as the very bad idea of making a living as a songwriter... Which is why I was so excited when I got my first royalty check from Spotify. A song called (yes) “Eli whitney was an Ass-Hole” I got 100,000 plays - and I got a check for 21 cents. How could that be? Thing is - when I got the check for 21 cents - I only had 17 cents in the account to begin with... so when the bank charged me a 50 cent check deposit fee... I wound up over drawn. - and then got a $25 dollar bounced check charge on top of it. I have less money than if i had never gotten played by spotify at all. Hell, they don’t even put the ‘cents’ character on the keyboard anymore. Ya gotta type “Option Alt 4” just to get the ‘cents’ character. But with on line media - a penny has a different meaning... It’s like Richard Prior as the villain in Superman three - or Superman I, I, I for the very self absorbed...... I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more No, I aint gonna work for Maggie's brother no more Well, he hands you a nickel He hands you a dime He asks you with a grin If you're havin' a good time Then he fines you every time you slam the door I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother more. See, I grew up in Georgia - and Whitney’s name has always been synonymous with my state.... To refresh your memory ... He’s the guy that is most famous for inventing the Cotton Gin... See back then - cotton was little more than a weed. It grew anywhere and everywhere... thing is nobody knew what to do with it... even with... ummm... how do you say it?... free labor - it was so hard to remove the seed that you couldn’t turn a profit from it... ...but Eli Whitney, a drunk, unemployed yankee crashing on the couch of his school mate near Savannah had an idea. With one turn of the crank - one man - made a steadfast weed the most profitable plant in the country. Cotton Plantations sprang up over night. White Gold Black Sweat and Tears That’s not at all what he had in mind... Before the cotton gin, the institution of slavery was on the decline and about to die out. He actually thought the cotton gin would end slavery all together... Once these plantations started making money SURELY they would start paying the help? Right? Right? I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more No, I aint gonna work for Maggie's pa no more Well, he puts his cigar Out in your face just for kicks His bedroom window It is made out of bricks The National Guard stands around his door Ah, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more. In a few short years the number of slaves in the United States went from five hundred thousand to four million. Plantations were were now worth billions.. In a few short years Pandora has gone public and is worth billions while paying its artists dozens Turns out... the people of the south, like Pandora, would not pay Eli Whitney for his invention. Nor would the state help him collect royalties... even as others were making millions off his artistry. even though he had copyrighted his idea- other people were already pirating their own cotton gin. When he tried to get people t pay the good people of the south ran him out of town... I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more and that’s Too bad... No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more because he was happy in the south. He would have stayed. Well, when she talks to all the servants About man and God and law Everybody says She's the brains behind pa She's sixty-eight, but she says she's fifty-four I ain't gonna work for Maggie's ma no more. Instead He went back to Springfield, Massachusetts where he he developed the concept of interchangeable parts - for riffles - the Springfield rifle - Yes, he invented the assembly line - and he gave the north... an arsenal. If he had stayed in the south, where he was perfectly happy... that arsenal would have been there. We would not have the Springfield Riffle... we would have the Savannah Riffle - and that Civil War thing would have certainly gone the other way. I mean, I know artists have been being ripped off by the media since the first broadcast hit, ”Come here Mr Watson, I want to see you.” We have before us is a whole new platform of opportunity.... What if... you made the musicians happy? Collectively we are a powerful force. The Pen is mightier than the Springfield Rifle... What if instead of everyday you had some rock stars saying they were pulling their songs from your service - you had them saying, “Join us!” What if you let us help you... by paying us. So we won’t be singing... I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more I aint gonna work on Maggie's farm no more Well, I try my best/ To be just who I am But everybody wants you/ To be just like them They say sing while you slave and I just get bored I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more. I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more. I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more. It’s the carrot and the stick. You show me a carrot - and I’ll put down my stick. Oh by the way... I spell Karat with a K.

Diversity (Refugees) / Don’t Hate Me by Chris Chandler / Paul Benoit Ninth Wave Publishing / Zebadiah Music The very thing that makes America great is the the thing we are most afraid: of our diversity. I GOT YOUR BACK / BUT WHOSE GOT MINE? I FELT LIKE A WRECK / OUT ON THE LINE WE WERE TWISTED / WE WERE BLIND I WANT MY EYES / I WANT TO UNWIND IF YOU GOTTA HATE SOMEBODY IF YA GOTTA HATE SOME ONE DON’T HATE ME. ... DON’T HATE ME From the beginning America has been a hodgepodge of sundry, and diverging groups. It is what makes us great. Two, three hundred years ago, (and even last week) It was the best, the brightest, that came here. It was the adventures, the free thinkers, the risk takers that came here. It was the debtors, the n’er-do-wells looking to start over, the extremists, the fanatics, the radicals the persecuted, the prospectors that longed for the salvation of a new beginning. It was the draft dodgers, the exiled intellectuals, the starving, and the industrious. THE REFUGEES They came from all over the world and spoke many languages. At one point we nearly adopted German as a national language. YOU ARE ALWAYS COUNTING / KEEPING THE SCORE I AM FALLING BEHIND / I AM OUTSIDE THE DOOR I AM IMPERFECT / BUT IT’S NOT A CRIME YOU’RE SHINING A LIGHT / I’M WALKING A LINE IF YOU GOTTA HATE SOMEBODY / IF YA GOTTA HATE SOME ONE DON’T HATE ME. ... DON’T HATE ME In 1776, there were two and a half million non native people in what is now the United States. No nationality held a clear majority and twenty percent were of African decent. (More than from any single country in Europe) At one point it could be argued that Swahili was the most spoken tongue in the western hemisphere. Granted, they did not come here willingly, It is one of our greatest shames that it has taken us so long to realize the gifts they had to offer. For even though Africans were subjugated for most of their history in the western hemisphere - their contributions to what makes America great is immeasurable. And, the same is true of the contributions of those who have been the most mistreated, The Native Americans, The Chinese and The Mexicans. Most of our great achievements have been at the behest of the newcomer ... the outcast... the refugee. It was the new-comer, the immigrant the refugee... that put his body on the line - against armed private militia - in the struggle to give us the eight hour day. It was the newcomer, the immigrant, the refugee that swelled the ranks of the Union Army and put an end to slavery by the barrel of a gun. It was the newcomer, the immigrant, the refugee - educated in our universities that sat in Houston, TX and Cape Canaveral as we put a human on the moon. It takes a great deal of courage and gumption to come to a new land and begin again. And when ya get here - the one thing ya still got is that courage and gumption. Even today. It is what makes us great. Even if it is what we fear the most. Many fear the new comer. But I say what does the new comer have to offer? We are all after all, newcomers. We are still so young, and so big. Europeans poke fun at us saying we think two hundred years is a long time - yet they think two hundred miles is a long way. Our American trailblazers have conquered great distances with a mule and an axil. I GOT YOUR BACK We, a largely impoverished rural, uneducated... BUT WHOSE GOT MINE? loose connection of villages... I WAS CARELESS were able to defeat the mightiest army on earth AND UNKIND with nothing but a wagon load of hunting rifles WE WERE STUMBLING... and declare ourselves free. WE WERE STONED Only a great and inspired people could do that. I NEED IT REAL Yes, What we have done with that history has not always been pretty. I WANT TO CALL HOME No people’s history is pretty. Perhaps if our history were pretty it would surely be that... History Pretty people don’t last. IF YOU GOTTA HATE SOMEBODY and in America it has often been the ugliest of the ugly that prevail. IF YA GOTTA HATE SOME ONE And prevail we do. TA HATE SOMEBODY, DON’T HATE ME. But today, I choose to celebrate what is great about our country. ... DON’T HATE ME Our Diversity

A story in the news recently caught my imagination -- and my imagination does not like being caught. My imagination is like a wild animal that when caught in a trap it will gnaw its own leg off to get released, which is exactly what it did. Fortunately my imagination also believes itself to be a millipede and it could spare a leg. So, I put on a fresh T-Shirt and headed out the door forgetting that somewhere beneath the rubble of a collapsed ten story garment factory in Bangladesh lies part of my imagination.  There it shall remain, with the remains of the poorly educated women working for shocking low wages who died there. It seems the hole left by my missing leg began to grow until it became a giant black hole sucking the white clouds of my imagination into a time warp - and not stopping until a full century had passed.  I found myself no longer in the sweat shops of Bangladesh but in the sweat shops of New York City.  The year was 1911. Another ten story garment factory was on fire. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory.  The victims of the tragedy again were mostly poorly educated women working for shocking low wages. Just like in Bangladesh, the management had locked all the workers inside before the fire to prevent them from stealing.  In both places fire escapes collapsed from the weight of fleeing workers. And in both cases, local inspectors had warned the building was unsafe.   In both cases workers were told they would be fired if they did not continue working. In New York, the events horrified the nation.   Horror is the only catalyst for change.   Content people do not take to the streets.   Less than a year after the event in New York, all of the women working in those garment factories in the north east had been organized by the Industrial Workers of the World - and this was before they could even vote. These events helped fuel a movement of organized workers that brought us work place safety standards, the abolishment of child labor, minimum wage and the eight hour day.  Things for which this country should be proud. However, the real engine of this country - the corporations - run from these American values like traitors. In Bangladesh, the accident killed ten times the number of workers in New York, whose wages are twenty time worse, the volume of clothing produced a hundred times greater and the the profits a thousand times more obscene. One would think that the international outrage would be proportionate. If it had been a terrorist’s bomb that killed twelve hundred people in the name of a prophet it would scare the pants off of us, but when it is corporate neglect and greed that kills twelve hundred in the name of a very different profit  we go to Walmart for another pair of pants.   In the twenty-first century, American corporations continue to have their wares manufactured in nineteenth century century working conditions. This too catches my imagination. It is an active imagination, because I envision a day when large American box stores and name brands take pride in American values and no longer sell merchandise made in such un-American conditions. Where Walmart’s slogan “Save More.  Live Better.”  Started living up to the “Live better” part of their slogan. Where Gap did not mean income Gap. Where Dell Computers slogan, “Get more out of now!”  was not aimed at a 13 year old girl on an assembly line. And where Nike’s “Just Do it.”  and Target’s “Expect More. Pay Less” did not sound like it was coming out of the mouth of a factory boss with a riding crop in his hand. It is time, my friends, that we Americans demand that the working conditions we insist upon for our selves be true of the things we buy. Because after-all, you are what you buy. 
  

If a ghost can walk through walls - Why doesn’t he fall through the floor? I was thinking about this when I felt myself being stared at ...by the Abyss. This made me realize, I was on the edge of something really big... standing upon a great precipice - and that is probably not a good time to put your best foot forward... I mean. I like the metaphor of hell being beneath us -- because the world is round, after-all, and down is the new up. ‘Cause Sometimes... Ya gotta get down there and wrestle ‘dem demons - Hell, Sometimes... Ya gotta get down there and jello wrestle ‘dem demons - just remember... when ya go through hell, ya gotta keep going - you’ll come out on the other side - wondering why every one is speaking in Australian accent. This is why I the current cast of characters now running for for office... People whose whose personal income outweighs the net worth of the right wing whackos there kissing up to by going down on the likes of Donald Trump or the Koch Brothers. No, in truth, the ultra rich could really care less about any of this whako conservative agenda: They don’t think black lives matter... because these days they have the Mexicans cleaning their toilets... its nothing personal. And believe me, no self respecting billionaire cares about the church. Sure, they give money to the church to make them look good... but, we all know giving money to the church doesn't make you a good person any more than buying tickets to the game makes you a third-baseman. What the church offers to the rich is - people. The only thing in the world the 1% does not have is people - 99% of us to be exact. In short, as long as there is something resembling a government, the rich need large numbers of people to support them. So they will say or do anything to stay in office. But they don’t actually care of these social issues. They don’t NEED to care. They don’t LIVE in society. They have their own police force. They have their own schools, their own hospitals. Soon they will have their own military. 
I am not afraid of Iran getting the bomb. I am afraid of Exxon getting the bomb. The rich will just support whatever they think the majority of the impotent insolvent will vote for. This is why they need Tea-Cup Poodles who can shift the limp moral compass of the masses so they think they are taking the high road. But my friends, that kind of a high road... ...will lead you off a cliff. Walk softly and carry a big carrot (which is of course attached to a big stick.) I picture the entire cast of Fox News leading the masses like asses up the high road and then dangling the carrot off the edge. and then boasting of all the jobs they are creating down at the mortuary. So personally, I’ll stick to the low roads, because storytelling is the art of telling truth with lies. That high road the others claim to be on is simply a lie. Down here... I don’t have to worry about falling off a cliff - because like I’ve always said - if you think there is a cutting edge - than you ain’t on it. Which is why I don’t think this is that “edgy” of a thought... ...if the rich can cross the lines between right and wrong like ghosts walk through walls - maybe it is time they also fell through the floor. Maybe the will go straight to hell - and maybe - just maybe - they will come out on the other side.

Sorry, it was improved and not written down, you'll just have to listen.