Let’s say you have a little radio about the size of the moon, and that as you dial slowly through each of the craters listening for something that appeals to you, you suddenly realize that each dip, pit, and divot is broadcasting the news and music of a single solitary human life, and that their signals are being bounced from star to star in your brain. And yet, somehow, despite this miracle, you are restless and dissatisfied, because there is too much advertising, or because there is static, or because some of the viewpoints presented contradict yours. You want something familiar — a familiar old tune, something that reminds you of your mother, or your childhood. You want something that makes you feel like you’ve been right all along, or that makes you feel less guilty for the mistakes you’ve made and for the thoughtless things you’ve done. You seek absolution. You want to feel righteous. You want to hear someone talking about food. Which cheese goes with which wine? Oh, God, which religion is mine? Which flag shall I wave? What should I think, what shall I do in these perilous times? Build a bunker? Hide? Buy something else I can’t afford? Eat more than I can possibly hold? Be obtuse and grotesque? Starve myself silly? Crawl to Jerusalem on my knees? Put up barbed wire? I know — I’ll buy a new phone! Bah. And then the radio goes dead. Silence… until you hear someone far in the distance say, Poor guy, he meant well, I guess we’ll have to have a garage sale. And you cry out, Wait, I’m still here! But not with your tongue. Dust. Charcoal. Rust. And again from a great distance, Hey, look at this cool radio….