Agents from I don't know where (National Geographic? NASA? HUAC? Chillax Brothers Reunion Committee? Sundance Film Lab? Kubrick's estate?) murdered me minutes after the sun snapped this photograph. I'm afraid there will be a podcast or docudrama this fall. Don't tune or dial or drop or click or dip or check or buzz in. Please. Remember me as I was: inky, viscous, halfway-there, compromised, sometimes scratching, sometimes soughing.