It's 2 a.m. The city sleeps. Except for the desperate and the deprived. Those are embroiled in a struggle between what they cannot live without and the deleterious vices they trade it for like food for oil between starving Nations. The mutually assured destruction for a new era. But whatever keeps the party going as if a slowly decaying orbit over a subtly ever broadening Horizon. A Target we fly past on a continuous basis that seems to follow us in an oblique parallel. When we crash, it has overtaken us. it means that ominous descent into dream. Like a mausoleum which pays no respect in epitaph to our hubris in  Gravity Beyond our means. But for now it eludes us. Because my band is too loud. I am Gordon. Good morning.