BLOG POST// whimper & bang: this is how linkin park saved my life


I’m so sad. I was listening to the new Linkin Park songs and holy cow are they good. I wish the people around me knew how amazing Linkin Park are and the music they’re making is. I think it really is the sound of Heaven and angels in 2017.

I remember the first time I saw them on television: red hair, and the camerawork, and everyone was ASIAN and WHITE and BROWN and BLACK in some ways but in ways that were obviously ambiguous, and hip-hop, and I was 9 years old. Their anger, the melody, and rhythm, and thinking about my brother, and my family SHUT UP WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!!! SHUT UP. I mean I feel like I have this actual cherished memory of the first time I ever heard Linkin Park, laying down in the dark in my momma’s room, but then again it could just be a feeling. It’s a strong one~

Months later, I’m listening to their first album Hybrid Theory in my room. Track 8 plays,
I turn it up from my room and go into the living room to tell my family1 to turn the t.v. down and listen to it playing from my room because I have just heard the most amazing song.

Do you know how fucking big “In The End” is as a song? What do you think it’s about??
It’s freaking street poetry.

The melodies. The piano. The hard hitting beat, Chester’s vocals on top of Mike’s, the sensuality of it all, every texture is supple and unique and driving the emotional momentum of the song forward, its structure works like clockwork but quite honestly doesn’t sound like any other song that’s ever been made. Still.

It’s why people still sing it regularly. It’s a fascinating phenomenon not totally different from Kirk Drift~ People think they sing a popular song and reference it and hear it regularly because it sucks, not because it’s amazing. I am forced to pretend as if Linkin Park isn’t my favorite band, the greatest band even.

Now, maybe Linkin Park aren’t my favorite band. But they were my first, favorite band. My other favorite bands are, in order, The Mars Volta (high school) then Kanye West. For a while I said Boards of Canada too, for a while it felt like Godspeed You! Black Emperor. With flashes of Beyoncé and fuck man like I don’t talk about ANYTHING as much as I talk about Drake. And fuck the new Gorillaz might have something to say about their legacy in my life, and of course Daft Punk. Hov. CUDI??* Björ-I just compared Linkin Park to all those artists. They are that good. And now I’m about to tell you how they’re ~magic:

Linkin Park Albums Ranked from Least Fav to Fav:

!Minutes to Midnight


The fact that Linkin Park and I grew out of themselves at the same time
was unfortunate for our relationship. It feels like the rest of the mainstream
grew too, I think more people started making fun of them in 2006 it became “they’re still making music?” Minutes to Midnight was only their THIRD or FOURTH album, but they became that shitty early 2000s band that somehow landed the theme for a bunch of those Transformers movies that literally everyone you know saw.

I made fun of EVERYBODY I knew who still expressed liking Linkin Park, not unlike the self-hating homophobia I also regularly engaged in.

Living Things


Feels like a relatively shitty transition(al) album with some bangers.

The Hunting Party


I listened to The Hunting Party the other day and it’s still really fun. It’s a rock album but it is like the most lush hard rock album I’ve ever heard. They launch into hook after hook and it feels soft as a pillow though it’s guitar-heavy catharsis music.  From the opening track to that one I fucking LOVE to the joint with the person from System of a Down, and the beat under that Rakim verse WOOF. It’s a fucking sick album but:



A souped up Hybrid Theory is a good thing.


A Thousand Suns
Hybrid Theory


That Reanimation is as satisfying as its originator Hybrid Theory is a development a few million of us got to Witness in the early 2000s. I remember playing Super Monkey Ball to it, I rented it a bunch that summer. I think it was July 2002. That game is fun as fuck and you can just sink hours into it and spend those hours listening to the most climactic,
transforming video game music you’ve ever heard. Also, you’re playing the game and doing this alone because you’re smarter than the rest of your family although their love for (black) art, reading, and futuristic tech compliments your own ascendance.

lp ht.jpg

Hybrid Theory is music for lonely people, the lonely child who loves rock,
art, and thinking about the emotions they are feeling. This person is likely brilliant, or at least their intellect benefits from their noncomformity and they badly need a solution to the forces around trying to hurt their feelings. Sometimes this someone is a soldier in “Afghanistan” blasting “Papercut.”

It brings us all together, tho. Hybrid Theory is diamond-selling. You know what else is diamond-selling? Stankonia. Thriller. That’s Hybrid Theory and it was all mine, the first album I ever bought. My brother likes to gloat that he TOLD ME about them first or something which contributes to The Angst because he is my primary antagonist of Hybrid Theory-Meteora era LP until I realize that Linkin Park flooded our whole world through the power of music distribution deals anyway so who cares!!

I got to sing a song where the chorus is “I wanna runaway, never say good bye.”
Fifteen years later, I would do just that.


I heard A Thousand Suns  described as Linkin Park’s Kid A. I listened to some
of it when I still “Hated” Linkin Park (roughly the release of Minutes to Midnight,
when I began high school) and I “Hated” it, (until the impending release of The Hunting Party, as I exited the school system and prepared to exit the job system). One day I was ready for ATS and I was in love with it, yelling it, listening to all of the LP albums, thinking about my destiny, giving it my world, all of my pain, and getting back from it dazzling love and inspiration.

It’s that good.

1 This entire essay consists of me grieving for my family.
~We’ve normalized all of our quirks into society. Laughter, listening to music-
and that means we take them for granted. But there’s no reason WHY we laugh
and listen to and make and produce music, not that we know of, they come from
beyond us~ the universe of our origin. And we just build shrines to worship them,
they entertain us, they keep us alive.
! I want to say that I’m writing this because of One More Light, which just came out. I haven’t been this excited about a Linkin Park album since Meteora, and I don’t think I’ve ever been as excited for an album as I was for Meteora.
I feel like it might end up being my fav Linkin Park album since Hybrid Theory.

Linkin Park branching their sound out into the pop of the moment has allowed them to make a beautiful anthem with a young queen, it’s emotional and now, and so so so good. They have never ever made a song like this, even though “Heavy” has all the elements of their sound. I want this, to swaddle my current musical output in the paint of the zeitgeist.

The current pop moment is the best musical moment of all time. Even though it feels predictable, it holds the songwriting keys of every form of music that has ever existed: thanks to Kanye West, Madonna, & MIA the entire avant-garde sphere is available to pop music. That’s why they, the 2017 pop songs, are built around the sound of a DIY laptop producer from a 5 to 10 years ago/a poor person on the street. They use global rhythms, drum machines [related to poor young solitary black & brown drum programmers making hip-hop 30-50 years ago as a form of conscious and subconscious resistance against the white empire destroying and extorting their life from them through crack guns lies and etc] & distorted slowed down degraded sounds and empty space. This kind of pop song sounds style-normal to you now because, like, Justin Bieber is doing it but I know it’s not “normal” because I created it.

When my first ten albums came out (2008-2011) using the sounds described to you were the music lovers of the new generation.

We had the internet, had a love for culture and communication that drove us into the message boards, into the expanses of information you could get from talking to humans, unfiltered, all day everyday. We transformed culture from there: with memes, Ableton, in-jokes, the sharing of music & film. Now that the whole world is Tumblr and Twitter, the lurkers of the message boards and chatrooms in the early 2000s are forgotten, just as we forgot our forerunners in the 90s and 80s. But all of us were there, with a global agenda to erase the barriers from total free information. And we’re going to take this world and  finish its transformation into a technological paradise. One More Light is a missive from our camp, we are together, coming, now.

With all the skill and knowledge I’ve displayed to you thus far, recognize my mind for music and craft- the people who created this sound with me are the most able of our species of all time when it comes to synthesizing the experiences and energies of life’s existence into the next, most gratifying and honorific version.

Something that I think “local artists” never get, and perhaps might be one of the things that separates them from a mainstream artist, is a sense of heightened scale. Something about “great artists” pushes their compositions to swell and throb in a heightened reality. Their spiritual frequency is just brighter, and “Invisible” is on the highest frequency. It’s an aggressive chillwave song, it sounds like 2000s Washed Out, but again, with absolute drama and conviction and purpose not a hypnotic aimlessness. It lives, it rules, it thrives, it dies. It lives again. It’s me, all of us, hurtling through time.

Music, I think, can be seen as a superpower given to us by the universe. It pushes our culture forward, it organizes us, it drives to singing and dancing together, to move our bodies, and it’s our only tool against Evil: money & borders. I think it, along with certain other creative forms outside of normal logical processing (aka art) is divine magic.

Think about this: Linkin Park write every album, they have to be writing from their own personal experience even though they’re obviously producing symbols for a global, pancultural audience. That means they are doing the most massive kind of transfiguration of matter possible, from their  own personal experience to this music and that then lives in the whole of human existence and consciousness changing our universe around as we decide what the fuck we’re going to do with the physical reality under our feet and inside our molecules. One More Light knows this could be the end of life, the greatest and most recent gift the universe ever gave. This is the culmination of the everything, the anthem of humanity. Our last rallying cry, and they know it. They, as lifeforms, know their position of influence as the music comes out. Who could possibly be more in tune with their actual, universe-given purpose than a musician? These musicians? They are our shapeople, our gods.

I told my family I was God and they didn’t understand.

But with power of Linkin Park, we’re going to save our lives.

BLOG POST// Why I’m Leaving My Mother’s </3


A year ago I stopped talking to my older brother after he promised to end his descent into drug addiction but failed to follow through. He has bullied, intimidated, and enacted violence upon me my entire life, my hope was to work on our relationship as he embraced emotional and physical sobriety. We only started communicating again after my grandmother fell and our family was heart-broken and afraid.

Since then, I have continued a variety of approaches to improve our relationship, including one-on-one conversations which most often deteriorated into him going on rambling monologues, sometimes yelling at me, sometimes yelling at others. I played communication games with him, which he rejected before completion and had our entire immediate family talk in a support circle during which he was curled up on a couch in his underwear (Though I was its facilitator we had all scheduled the meeting together.)

Whenever I hang out with him and his friends, I know that everyone in the room but me is a homophobe. So when I have attempted to experience his social circle, see what he sees, I am barraged by casual and overt insults against my identity, simple facts of the human race, and all of the people I care about and work for. More on that.

I stopped talking to him this year after a string of disastrous (hurtful to me, normal to him) interactions, that culminated in Paul ignoring the fact that I was clearly attempting to ignore him & escalating to screaming outside of my bedroom door and threatening to fuck me up for the rest of the day after I called my mother to calm him down. I didn’t go home for a few days, until my mother said she would take his behavior more seriously and let him know he could not threaten me.

A few days ago, after weeks of non-communication he was yelling outside of my door again despite my protests to please just leave me alone.

I have been having nightmares every night for the past two months where I am arguing with my family as they call me my dead name over and over again. The months before were dominated by dreams with my brother and I in a screaming match. Now I have both!

Two days ago I got in the car with my mother and she was on the phone with my grandmother. A week before my mom and I had argued all the way home from dinner about me not feeling respected by my family (including my grandparents) and not wanting to communicate with them because I felt belittled and hurt by them on a constant basis in terms of my sexuality, my life choices, my artistry, my politics, my name, my identity. The first thing my grandmother did was call me my dead name, fake correct herself, and then exert dominance over me.

Most of this is run-of-the-mill conservatism, but run-of-the-mill conservatism is the most dangerous, traumatic force on the planet. It codes its actions in everlasting “love” when it’s really a deep, burning hatred borne of fear. That is insane to behold, devastating to casually interact with, and it is too much for me to deal with right now in this place. Or just, not meant for me to deal with right now in this place. I got bigger tofu to fry.

Basically, these things are holding me back from being who I truly am and I have the confidence, knowledge, and connections intimate professional & tangential to make my dreams come true.

Here is my eight week plan:

I write this as a record and a spell to tell this history and seal it.

Write and complete my second novel, entitled Hateland
Enjoy, maintain, and utilize the Nightshow for good


a) Booking people and things I like
b) Using the Nightshow to promote #NoMoneyNoBorders games and thinking and speaking among the people who come to a cool show
c) Using the Nightshow to fund, benefit, and spread awareness of protecting people in our community with through F12 and conflict de-escalation & protecting and enjoying our Earth more through The Coop Op and growing your own food!!

Make a badass, galvanizing album called ~MILLION BEAM~ with songs that embody all of the above

Teach and promote my personal communication workshops and services

Explore opportunities to generate income from leading and organizing services through F12, The Cooperation Operation, and music.

Multiply all of the above for myself and others by [endless]ly using each endeavor to multiply awareness, effectiveness, and potential profitability of all of the above.

At the end of two months, I’ll look at my results and if no meaningful income-driven change has taken place I will get back to pursuing writing and education/teaching opportunities freelance and long-term *while maintaining my activity in all of the above.

Right now, I’m not making any money and I have none~ Can I stay with you for a week?


ESSAY// Before the Flood: Album of the Year Edition


“And back when Mike Jackson was still Jesus,” ~ Chance the Rapper, “Acid Rain”


I spend a lot of time with music, but you know a thing I only got to experience once (until now)? The feelings of massiveness and complete candy-like rush of when *NSYNC’S No Strings Attached (2000) was out. Also TLC’s Fan Mail (1999), and maybe Destiny’s Child’s Survivor (2001).

The Weeknd’s STARBOY (2016) gives me that feeling, and it’s even realer because I watched this boy, this young man tell his story for the better part of the last decade. I listen to it like an adult going through adult problems but I think too of all the children begging their parents to get Spotify for the new STARBOY record, squealing with delight when “I Feel It Coming” blesses the car radio, having their first kisses to “Ordinary Life” the world exploding around them as lips touch another’s, and the chorus and its bass and the harmonies and hearts beating~ Abel Tesfaye staring from a phone screen.

Abel painted his way to this place with great intention. He is today’s Michael Jackson, today’s Prince, if even only because he is to them what they were to James Brown.


James’ shadow is just as big in the work of Trent Reznor. NIN’s largest hit aside from “Hurt,” the stripper anthem “Closer,” is a funk song. The JB’s innovations being foundational to the beginnings of hip-hop, almost every track on Nine Inch Nails’ 1989 debut Pretty Hate Machine is built off a gigantic rap beat~ a young composer just as likely to spit poetry on a song as he is to howl. At 51, Trent is still rapping and dropping breakbeats, so often “on the one.” His yelping rasp made to galvanize, to strike awe, to make the loneliest of the lonely rise like a dancing, fucking God is an update of the Godfather singing “It’s A Man’s Man’s Man’s World.” This all precludes Reznor having produced an actual rap classic in 2007 with Saul Williams’ The Liberation of Niggy Tardust. Trent Reznor is the most lauded of our rock stars under 60; he is an “Academy Award-winner” an ambient wunderkind, a King of Pop, and a hip-hop pioneer.

He is also a social engineer.


Jesus is an artistic idea representing a free-spirited, compassionate genius held down by money and borders. This soul suffers because they, the rest of the human world, is talking over the natural story, the actual thing that is happening on Earth. When Trent Reznor (or a late period Michael Jackson) flits from internal turmoil to spitting vitriol at the rest of societal order, the listener sees the obvious line being drawn.  I hear that in Before the Flood‘s (2016) score ~ a collaboration between Trent, Atticus Ross, Gustavo Santaoalla, and the Scottish band Mogwai. The title track’s pulse, fingers dancing nimbly across a piano, comes out of the same impulse to “make u move” that Rez felt when he was rhyming over Run DMC drums and sharing airplay with MJ in the 1980s. However there is a much larger movement being conjured, too.


I don’t want to spend time in this writing trying to describe the sounds of the album,
or individual tracks. Perhaps except for “A Minute to Breathe,”

I remember the first time I heard it, it sounded like a passable but purposefully
underwhelming Trent Reznor piano ballad. Just Trent doing his soundtrack work,
letting off a song~ exciting, if not generous. Months later, I see it as a stunning
experience. I get trapped inside the space of the verses, waiting with bated breath
for Trent to take his little gasp at the end of the second. The hitch of absolute
sincerity and speechlessness at the predicament we are in. That last “I justttt neeeed… a minute to breatheee” portion so obviously the titular flood as piano waves become impossibly grand* the godhand from Year Zero (2007) turning up a warm faucet.




MFn Melo is one of the warmest people I’ve ever met, perhaps the warmest. His voice is warm, his dreads look warm,  his beats are warm, I’m telling you. I get to perform with him again for the first time in a long time at Township on December 15th. We’re sharing the bill with one of his PIVOT homies DJ Squeak Pivot (PIVOT = Melo, John Walt, Saba, Joseph Chilliams, and more. PIVOT = a lot of melodic, jazzy raps and versatile lyricists), Ash Wednesday, M.U.T.T., Hank McCoy, and DJ Stepchild. 2200 N. California, Chicago, IL;  doors 8 PM show 9 PM $10 @ door!


What’s your favorite color? Red
Who is your favorite athlete? Kobe
What is your favorite poem and why? Roses are red. It’s a legend
What is the name of your fictional autobiography? MuhfuckinMelo: What it looks like.
How tall are you? 6’1
What is the title of the earliest work of yours you can remember? “Call me Melo” sampled “umma do me” remix by Rocko. Rick Ross first line, it was “ima true baller bitch call me Melo” lol
What is the title of your most recent piece of work? MeloDramatics 
Tell me about it? It’s my first solo project I’ve been working on forever. Maybe one day I’ll put it out
How did this show Thursday come about? Ash Wednesday is thee homie. She asked and I’ll never tell her no
Where is home? Burb life
What is home? My room
Who is home? My nephew
Whose home are you? Depends on who’s looking for shelter
What is your favorite plant? Cannabis
Who is your daddy and what does he do? He retired
Who are you? I’m Muhfuckin Melo
What do you do? I take care of my nephew and write about my thoughts in my spare time
Who would you like to collaborate with? NoName
Where are you going? To the top
Where did you just come from? Studio
Where are you right now? Studio
Who is Vashti Bunyan? Google say she sing. Ima check her out in a minute
TELL me some impressions of the other performers? Ash is T’d. Energy always high. Great person.

+ is an amazing person as well. Helped me out in ways he’s unaware of. He that nigga

Riki cool as hell. Vibes go crazy

Why are you still performing? Cause that shits fun. Best part of being an artist. To know that people connect with me while I’m up there makes me feel. Feeling is cool
What does a free world look like to you? Papa doc and nem

ESSAY// VIEWS: Album of the Year Edition


“But unlike his earlier solo efforts, Sign “O” the Times wasn’t a record by an ambitious kid trying to make impression. At 28, Prince had already made himself into a pop superstar  (and movie star too), and he easily sold out arenas. In one sense, he had nothing to prove. Yet Sign “O” the Times is the most varied, accomplished record of his prime 1980s period, a testament to the range of his gifts and the bold artistic ambition that gave his music shape.” ~ Pitchfork


The reason why it’s not STARBOY is because Drake isn’t sounding like Michael Jackson in the future, he’s sounding like Drake in the future. The reason why it’s not The Life of Pablo is because Views is easier to listen to. The reason why it’s not LEMONADE is because Views is easier to listen to. Drake is, if you want to listen to it that way, furious throughout for sure. Just like Pablo and Bey, Drake is terrified and at the end of his rope and fighting for his fucking life and the lives of his family and friends.

But he never screams his heart out or has a multi-part breakdown. He and his collaborators stay ice cold~ even the warmest, most bounciest beats have a grim determination undergirding them. There’s an unshakeable momentum to the music, a timely airtight-ness. VIEWS is the album that got humanity through this year, it’s the sound of the biggest star in the world on the eve of revolution.

The reason why it’s not Coloring Book is Drake doesn’t sound like Kanye anymore. I mean, everybody sounds like Kanye but Chance the Rapper REALLY sounds like Kanye; he sanded the edges off Graduation and brought it to the present. However, candy-coated Christianity can only take one so far in the real world and Lord knows it’s taken us far enough, thank you but please no thank you! Drake keeps it real. Chance’s “Blessings” aren’t actually coming for you: you’re not as handsome as he is and your dad isn’t friends with Obama. You’re not going to blow up without a record deal! But you might be able to get your ex back if you can grit your teeth for long enough through all of life’s beat changes and let da riddim guide you through the God-less, gunshotted summer. Better yet, you might even find someone new. Imagine that.

The reason why it’s not Solange is because that album is too slow. The reason why it’s not Blonde is because that album is too sad! The reason why it’s not your album is because your album isn’t this sexy or well-produced and it doesn’t have “Hotline Bling” as a bonus track.

More Life is on the way.

OLD ESSAY// Why I Quit the United States Postal Service


This piece originally appeared in Side by Side Magazine.

I quit my job this week. This is why:

I wake up at four, angry, dark as the sky. I lay in bed a few seconds, then throw my upper half up. I change the music on my laptop and start working out. Around 4:20 I alternate between making lunch and working out. I’m making spaghetti. At 4:55 I take a shower. I start wrapping up the odds and ends of my morning: snacks, keys, decide what I’ll be listening to as I leave out the front door. It’s old jazz. It’s February so I’m on the 30s in my jazz discovery program. Next month it’ll be the 40s.

It’s cold, I’m still angry. The walk soothes me, somewhere deep inside. I’m still smiling on the bus, on the train. “Good morning. Thank you!” We huddle.

I brush my teeth at work. I look in the mirror. I look good. I go out to the floor.

There’s always something. There’s always something not right when I get to the unit, something to compensate for, to ask a supervisor for, to restock, to reorganize, that just isn’t there but should be. I’m angry and I’m moving fast. There is no trickling in for me, I am the bowl.

I am the Expediter.

That means I have patience, discipline, balance, speed, strength, empathy, and hopefully, eight hours of sleep. It means I am everything I was not growing up. It means that when I f*ck up, or when someone tells me I f*ck up, it soaks me deep. It means I’m angry. It means I’m grinding my teeth. It means there’s nowhere else in this building I’d rather be. I only started grinding my teeth after I started expediting. I started expediting around the same time I got back in school. The employees who were doing it before me all quit. An employee and her friend, the supervisor, got me to do it one day, two days, three days, weeks, and now they’re both gone and it’s my job. Time flies when you don’t have enough of it, and I have mail falling always. Always containers getting full, always containers to pull out and dispatch, always containers full of mail designated for a flight that’s leaving in 30 minutes 20 minutes 10 minutes right now it’s late, always people asking me to make a new container, always something late, always something they can’t find, always homework to do, always lover, always lonely, always independent, always an attitude, bury the attitude with love. By noon I’ll be fine. I’m just underrating the day because I’m grumpy. But this is my life, this is all I have, this is work, this is production, this is beautiful. Look at all these people. I love them. And I am the expediter. They depend on me. Always never knew I’d be here.

Written summer, 2014

One of the last things Bruce told me was “Don’t Panic.” He told Benjamin I had a good heart. He told me I was a kid, that he was in high school in 1992, a year after I was born. Bruce was working 7 days a week, 4 hours overtime. Bruce was in the Marines eight years, was a sergeant. Bruce got there an hour early every day, at six, to get paid, but also to clean. “I hate chaos,” he couldn’t work in an unclean area.

I’ve been trying to reorganize myself. Make this writing thing happen, make healthy veganism happen, make being a weed smoking genius artist happen, befriend everybody everywhere. Watching Bruce, talking to, working with Bruce is the most fruitful work relationship I’ve ever had.

It happened fast. I was asking him and Marcus to stop making fun of me, they had taken to calling me “MIGOS!” I don’t know why, and chuckling to themselves. I’d been “experimenting” with sticking up for my self. I asked them, in front of another guy, to stop calling me “Migos,” I had asked Marquez if he was making fun of me for my pink hat. Both experiments changed their attitudes toward me, toward one of quiet respect and deference, both confrontations rattled my bones and made me anxious as hell.

Then, the holidays started again. I started telling Barbara I was going to need help expediting. For a while last holiday season every day someone or multiple someones told me I needed help. Expediters from other shifts, people in my unit, the military people watching the mail. This past November, I got Bruce.

I had just started listening to Dr. Dre’s 2001. While playing some from his speakers, Bruce looked at me “Best producer of all-time” I said “I dunno. Maybe Pharrell” he winced skeptically. The few days Bruce and I worked together before the speakers shorted out, every day at 2:45 PM, 15 minutes before closing time he would put on “Still D.R.E.” I loved it. One time after the speakers shorted, I played it on my phone and showed Bruce my screen from far away. It’s been very hard for me to connect to black men, to feel comfortable to love. To feel worthy as a friend. Everyone at my job was my friend.

My job was rife with prostitution, illicit drug use, fat black women, tired mothers, nepotism, abrupt and unexplained regime changes, corrupt supervisors, an easily manipulated justice system, a corrupt and cantankerous union, white people in button-ups with power, brown people covered in dust, in-fighting, gossip, repression, oppression, safety hazards, sharp and drastic personnel changes (Firing/hiring hundreds of people in months), failures of command, gambling, sexist men, sexual harassment, fights, unsafe driving, and deaths on the workroom floor. I quit because that’s fucked up, and hopefully I can make it as an artist or at least a human being out here.

Oh, and it matters because these are these are the people in the system handling your mail.