From High Places We Shove the Lightest
Why can't you fall already?
I've been personal,
I've given,
I've been speaking from that place;
you know that's hard for me to do.
Why can't you fall already?
-Matthew Koutzun
Friday, December 29, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
More
More
Get to bed you,
or time will not slip fast enough to fall.
Its bruised its neck
and won't get up.
A tragic ending
for the beginning.
Touch it's throat,
feel a beat,
a rythem- a song:
from the heart.
Oh, now that's the wonderous place
from which we can start.
It's not dead-
no, not time.
Pick him up-
kiss his lips,
there's a tingle
from the spine, where we don't touch the tip.
Breath into her,
it is sex-less,
moving faster;
in the air
and on the floor.
Oh, I've seduced them
oh, I've tricked them
oh, don't tell them
or yell them,
or open the door.
Cause I'm young,
yes, I pushed him,
and seduced her,
and picked them up for more.
But I'm slipping,
and they've
caught me.
Time
is fleeting
and all I want is...
-Matthew Koutzun
(Great thanks goes to Evy, on this poem.)
Get to bed you,
or time will not slip fast enough to fall.
Its bruised its neck
and won't get up.
A tragic ending
for the beginning.
Touch it's throat,
feel a beat,
a rythem- a song:
from the heart.
Oh, now that's the wonderous place
from which we can start.
It's not dead-
no, not time.
Pick him up-
kiss his lips,
there's a tingle
from the spine, where we don't touch the tip.
Breath into her,
it is sex-less,
moving faster;
in the air
and on the floor.
Oh, I've seduced them
oh, I've tricked them
oh, don't tell them
or yell them,
or open the door.
Cause I'm young,
yes, I pushed him,
and seduced her,
and picked them up for more.
But I'm slipping,
and they've
caught me.
Time
is fleeting
and all I want is...
-Matthew Koutzun
(Great thanks goes to Evy, on this poem.)
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Violent:Posession:Heart
Violent:Posession:Heart
Stop.
Take those three steps back,
don't come any closer.
I said stop.
Don't touch me!
Stop hugging me.
Stop wiping my eye-
my brow.
I said stop!
You're hurting me.
I told you this before.
Why won't you listen.
I told you this wouldn't work.
Step back.
I told you.
I told you
I told
I told you.
I told you.
Why won't you stop.
Stop caressing me.
My eyes are dry,
Don't make excuses.
Get that hand away.
My eyes are fine.
Don't touch me.
That's my arm.
Not yours.
Not yours.
Not.
Yours.
Not at all yours.
I told you.
I told you.
I told.
Get away.
You do not care.
You never do.
Or did.
Or will again.
I want you gone.
Stop.
Step back.
I told you.
Step back.
Get out.
That is mine.
Bring it back.
Come back.
With that.
Come back.
With that.
Come back
-Matthew Koutzun
Stop.
Take those three steps back,
don't come any closer.
I said stop.
Don't touch me!
Stop hugging me.
Stop wiping my eye-
my brow.
I said stop!
You're hurting me.
I told you this before.
Why won't you listen.
I told you this wouldn't work.
Step back.
I told you.
I told you
I told
I told you.
I told you.
Why won't you stop.
Stop caressing me.
My eyes are dry,
Don't make excuses.
Get that hand away.
My eyes are fine.
Don't touch me.
That's my arm.
Not yours.
Not yours.
Not.
Yours.
Not at all yours.
I told you.
I told you.
I told.
Get away.
You do not care.
You never do.
Or did.
Or will again.
I want you gone.
Stop.
Step back.
I told you.
Step back.
Get out.
That is mine.
Bring it back.
Come back.
With that.
Come back.
With that.
Come back
-Matthew Koutzun
Miss Fairweather and Mr. Comebackagain (A poem in broken verse)
Miss Fairweather and Mr. Comebackagain (A poem in broken verse)
Oh, I know and love both of you
in your many forms.
But your pure forms I see so well.
so I must expose you both.
Miss Fairweather
my honest friend,
we share so much and so few;
there's not much you don't know of me.
but you come and whine to me
about problems here and far,
and when I have problems of my own
I can't find where you are.
Mr. Comebackagain you've fooled me.
Many, many times.
You come to me during your roughest hour,
and I'm here for you, there for you,
from the ones who hurt you most.
And revived you leave
and I am hooked on you,
and again your lost from view
off to prove to those who hurt you
that they must love you too.
They never will,
and run to them- you'll push.
Oh, you're not content with me.
Even though I'm here in the end.
Oh, what a fool you've made me,
Mister,
come back again.
I'm left here,
between you,
even though you are both away.
I could take a step forward
and hide from verse,
it follows you know-
like thee.
-Matthew Koutzun
Oh, I know and love both of you
in your many forms.
But your pure forms I see so well.
so I must expose you both.
Miss Fairweather
my honest friend,
we share so much and so few;
there's not much you don't know of me.
but you come and whine to me
about problems here and far,
and when I have problems of my own
I can't find where you are.
Mr. Comebackagain you've fooled me.
Many, many times.
You come to me during your roughest hour,
and I'm here for you, there for you,
from the ones who hurt you most.
And revived you leave
and I am hooked on you,
and again your lost from view
off to prove to those who hurt you
that they must love you too.
They never will,
and run to them- you'll push.
Oh, you're not content with me.
Even though I'm here in the end.
Oh, what a fool you've made me,
Mister,
come back again.
I'm left here,
between you,
even though you are both away.
I could take a step forward
and hide from verse,
it follows you know-
like thee.
-Matthew Koutzun
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
On Loving Two Women
On Loving Two Women
Don't do it my childen:
loving two women.
You won't get what you want from either,
and you can't combine the good qualities of each
to make a whole.
One will get suspicious-
and then the other.
They'll know you're split from them at the table,
and in the bedroom your tounge is tight on names
they can't hear.
You love one more;
but the other you might break.
What love you have inside of you at times like these,
a beautiful love that will help string them along
such a lovely convenience.
-Matthew Koutzun
Don't do it my childen:
loving two women.
You won't get what you want from either,
and you can't combine the good qualities of each
to make a whole.
One will get suspicious-
and then the other.
They'll know you're split from them at the table,
and in the bedroom your tounge is tight on names
they can't hear.
You love one more;
but the other you might break.
What love you have inside of you at times like these,
a beautiful love that will help string them along
such a lovely convenience.
-Matthew Koutzun
Saturday, December 16, 2006
A singer is a liar- believe what your mother told you
A singer is a liar-
believe what your mother told you.
"Waiting is the hardest part,"
Only beat by the blows of confirmation.
"All you need is love,"
After the food and shelter needed.
"It's not unusual, to be loved by anyone,"
No, not unusual, a rarity in fact.
-Matthew Koutzun
believe what your mother told you.
"Waiting is the hardest part,"
Only beat by the blows of confirmation.
"All you need is love,"
After the food and shelter needed.
"It's not unusual, to be loved by anyone,"
No, not unusual, a rarity in fact.
-Matthew Koutzun
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Seated in the Cafe, Watching from 6:53 p.m. - 9:55 p.m., On Davie and Burrard, December 13, 2006
Seated in the cafe,
Watching from 6:53 p.m. - 9:55 p.m.,
On Davie and Burrard,
December 13, 2006
Spy it. 10 O'clock. In the corner. Sitting in the corner. Head swiveling at a lurch a second. Takes off jacket and lays it across chair adjacent. He pulls it back. Reluctantly. Wanting to give comfort. To someone barely known. But still removes it knowing that a stranger will demand. The spot. And phone rings. Answers. Meeting place changed. He blindly chases a blind date.
Empty for a while
Adjacent now holds woman. Smiling with phone. Chats. Smiles. Taps outer thigh in humour. Hangs up. Reachs for paper. Leaving seat.
Empty for a second
Elegantly reads. Man enters. Glances and walks on. She removes her jacket. Inspecting the paper still. Flipping pages elegantly. Another man passes. Glances and sits opposite the room. A lot of reading happens. Man feigns to read whilst his body turned sideways in his chair watching her from above his book. She fiddles with earrings. Oblivious. Licks finger. Turns page. Oblivious. She adjusts shoulder strap through shirt. Oblivious. Pretending to read is fun. Ring. She talks into phone flirtaciously. Her jacket now of the original chair. Adjacent. Hangs up. Smile from the other end. Still dances on her lips. It fades into the paper again. More reading. (I hope there is some parable to this and it's not all in vain). He's here. And her jacket is back on. As well as her smile. Her feet point to him. And his at her. He puts his hand over his mouth. But his eyes betray that he has a smile. Both chairs full. Conversation. Unheard. He speaks with his hands. Like he's hold an orb. That grows as his stories do. Loud laughter from her. Twice. (As an observer I feel creepy). She plays with her nails when she thinks. Pulls off her jacket halfway. To expose covered breasts. "I need to find a guy". (It's funny how selective our hearing can be). Man with book looks on annoyed. Man in chair leans back suggestively. Girl looks him over. And motions with her head they should leave. The seats empty. They go. As friends.
Empty for a moment
Frumpy man sits. Stirs coffee. Unzips pocket. Phone. Sits. Eats. Watch cars pass. Drinks. Seems content. Goes to garbage.
Seat Empty
Returns. Resumes the above. (I start to realize how boring and ultimately quick you have to be to observe someone). (It tries my patience but I force myself to continue). Still nothing new. Still nothing. (I kind of want him to explode). (That might be more interesting. (But only a bit). Now he is staring at the sample girl. Kind of green eyed. She hasen't offered to him yet. She walks outside. He seems less content. (Maybe he wants to explode now too). But now he eats. Content again. (Makes me want to explode). He's made a stack with his garbage. The coffee stick a pole. Without anything to preoccupy him. He sits. Cross legged. He's changed which leg a couple times. (Plot Twist). Foot shaking antsy. Reflective. He bops to the jazz beat. He's resting. Not resting. Leaves.
Empty again
For a long time. They sure look comfortable. No. Deny yourself. (Don't publish this). (People will laugh).
-Matthew Koutzun
Watching from 6:53 p.m. - 9:55 p.m.,
On Davie and Burrard,
December 13, 2006
Spy it. 10 O'clock. In the corner. Sitting in the corner. Head swiveling at a lurch a second. Takes off jacket and lays it across chair adjacent. He pulls it back. Reluctantly. Wanting to give comfort. To someone barely known. But still removes it knowing that a stranger will demand. The spot. And phone rings. Answers. Meeting place changed. He blindly chases a blind date.
Empty for a while
Adjacent now holds woman. Smiling with phone. Chats. Smiles. Taps outer thigh in humour. Hangs up. Reachs for paper. Leaving seat.
Empty for a second
Elegantly reads. Man enters. Glances and walks on. She removes her jacket. Inspecting the paper still. Flipping pages elegantly. Another man passes. Glances and sits opposite the room. A lot of reading happens. Man feigns to read whilst his body turned sideways in his chair watching her from above his book. She fiddles with earrings. Oblivious. Licks finger. Turns page. Oblivious. She adjusts shoulder strap through shirt. Oblivious. Pretending to read is fun. Ring. She talks into phone flirtaciously. Her jacket now of the original chair. Adjacent. Hangs up. Smile from the other end. Still dances on her lips. It fades into the paper again. More reading. (I hope there is some parable to this and it's not all in vain). He's here. And her jacket is back on. As well as her smile. Her feet point to him. And his at her. He puts his hand over his mouth. But his eyes betray that he has a smile. Both chairs full. Conversation. Unheard. He speaks with his hands. Like he's hold an orb. That grows as his stories do. Loud laughter from her. Twice. (As an observer I feel creepy). She plays with her nails when she thinks. Pulls off her jacket halfway. To expose covered breasts. "I need to find a guy". (It's funny how selective our hearing can be). Man with book looks on annoyed. Man in chair leans back suggestively. Girl looks him over. And motions with her head they should leave. The seats empty. They go. As friends.
Empty for a moment
Frumpy man sits. Stirs coffee. Unzips pocket. Phone. Sits. Eats. Watch cars pass. Drinks. Seems content. Goes to garbage.
Seat Empty
Returns. Resumes the above. (I start to realize how boring and ultimately quick you have to be to observe someone). (It tries my patience but I force myself to continue). Still nothing new. Still nothing. (I kind of want him to explode). (That might be more interesting. (But only a bit). Now he is staring at the sample girl. Kind of green eyed. She hasen't offered to him yet. She walks outside. He seems less content. (Maybe he wants to explode now too). But now he eats. Content again. (Makes me want to explode). He's made a stack with his garbage. The coffee stick a pole. Without anything to preoccupy him. He sits. Cross legged. He's changed which leg a couple times. (Plot Twist). Foot shaking antsy. Reflective. He bops to the jazz beat. He's resting. Not resting. Leaves.
Empty again
For a long time. They sure look comfortable. No. Deny yourself. (Don't publish this). (People will laugh).
-Matthew Koutzun
"We Are Together"
"We Are Together"
We'll say it-
Scream it-
Yell it-
Shout It-
Whisper it-
Voice it-
Martyer it-
Demand it-
and all with hands:
held.
-Matthew Koutzun
We'll say it-
Scream it-
Yell it-
Shout It-
Whisper it-
Voice it-
Martyer it-
Demand it-
and all with hands:
held.
-Matthew Koutzun
In the Arms of a Giant
In the Arms of a Giant
Have you ever wanted to
change yourself?
By machine,
magic,
chemical,
mere thought of another?
Their control
or yours?
For the better
or worse,
or is anything
but you
better?
Made my muscles bigger-
features handsomer-
hair styled long-
and cried in the arms of a giant,
who gave it all to me.
As Atlas in a magazine did for millions.
Glisened and gleaned,
and gouged out my eyes
because I could still see myself in them,
and cried again
because I still could not feel
the difference,
even with all this flesh.
Cried in the arms of the giant
who could not change me at all.
Bastard- I love.
-Matthew Koutzun
Have you ever wanted to
change yourself?
By machine,
magic,
chemical,
mere thought of another?
Their control
or yours?
For the better
or worse,
or is anything
but you
better?
Made my muscles bigger-
features handsomer-
hair styled long-
and cried in the arms of a giant,
who gave it all to me.
As Atlas in a magazine did for millions.
Glisened and gleaned,
and gouged out my eyes
because I could still see myself in them,
and cried again
because I still could not feel
the difference,
even with all this flesh.
Cried in the arms of the giant
who could not change me at all.
Bastard- I love.
-Matthew Koutzun
Deft Perception
Deft Perception
Enter grocery store
to follow her.
I weave the aisles
deftly.
Not caring where she
leads.
She stops;
looking at products.
I stop two columns beside her,
"inspecting" products too
but more her.
I make my way
beside her.
She's even better
up
close.
She doesn't even smile
and asks,
"Heavy or light day,"
motioning the tampon box in my hands.
I drop the box!
She laughs.
"Heavy," I say.
She says, "light,"
as she slyly
goes to the till.
-Matthew Koutzun
Enter grocery store
to follow her.
I weave the aisles
deftly.
Not caring where she
leads.
She stops;
looking at products.
I stop two columns beside her,
"inspecting" products too
but more her.
I make my way
beside her.
She's even better
up
close.
She doesn't even smile
and asks,
"Heavy or light day,"
motioning the tampon box in my hands.
I drop the box!
She laughs.
"Heavy," I say.
She says, "light,"
as she slyly
goes to the till.
-Matthew Koutzun
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Transformative
Transformative
Nature
beguiling enough
is sufficent to be fooled,
by layers of itself:
bold.
Image
taken sharply
blends in covered form,
one on the other:
mistaken.
Gender
fused palpable
on nature strained through an image,
the androdgany in design:
fearful.
-Matthew Koutzun
The following was written from my newest experience as being done up as a drag queen as you can see below. It was an amazing experience to have chanced, and it totally helped my views on gender assignment in sexuality in the most laudable way possible. I suggest everyone to try it: be another gender, even for a bit... it changes your view on how one presents themselves, and what is natural for each gender to present. An exgagerated personification of a gender- a beautiful form. The poem surely does not do the experience justice, and another will definately have to be written. This one just doesn't have the attitude I'm looking for- as you can see below- haha.
All I Got is Attitude- Bitch!
Here's the fun trick:
Cover up on side-
then the other.
You know it's androdgonously fun!
I just realized this: what a great first time for everyone to see my face...
Nature
beguiling enough
is sufficent to be fooled,
by layers of itself:
bold.
Image
taken sharply
blends in covered form,
one on the other:
mistaken.
Gender
fused palpable
on nature strained through an image,
the androdgany in design:
fearful.
-Matthew Koutzun
The following was written from my newest experience as being done up as a drag queen as you can see below. It was an amazing experience to have chanced, and it totally helped my views on gender assignment in sexuality in the most laudable way possible. I suggest everyone to try it: be another gender, even for a bit... it changes your view on how one presents themselves, and what is natural for each gender to present. An exgagerated personification of a gender- a beautiful form. The poem surely does not do the experience justice, and another will definately have to be written. This one just doesn't have the attitude I'm looking for- as you can see below- haha.
Make-up and photos by Nikole [ ] (c)2007
All I Got is Attitude- Bitch!
Oh, what ever happened to Faye Ray?
With that satin draped frame?
With that satin draped frame?
Here's the fun trick:Cover up on side-
then the other.
You know it's androdgonously fun!
I just realized this: what a great first time for everyone to see my face...
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Speak:Spoken
Speak:Spoken
I was urged today
by God.
I wait for the bus.
It does not come.
My shoe untied.
I see it.
Feel nothing.
Then everything.
I look to see if a bus is coming.
No.
My shoe is untied.
And everything is the urge to tie it.
Everything in me is telling to to tie it.
I don't want to.
But am compeld to.
So I test him.
God.
Internal:
If I tie this shoe let the bus come.
Tied.
The bus rounds the bend.
Internal:
Parlor trick.
But I'm still open.
So I test him again.
Internal:
Speak to me God.
I walk on the bus.
Removing my Glove.
The winter wind shoving me in.
I sit at the back.
A newspaper flaps at my ass.
Stunned.
I turn.
A black man.
He smiles.
Black man.
Smiling:
Going home?
I stare.
Scared.
Puzzled.
Internal:
Which home are we talking about?
Don't you dare.
I'm not ready for that yet.
I'm silent.
Black man still.
He turns around.
Silence.
I'm urged.
I should ask him.
Internal:
Are you god?
Nothing.
I should ask him out loud.
Internal:
Are you God?
Stop messing with me.
I told you I'd be open.
I never thought this wide.
Stop this.
Make it subtle.
Girl on the bus.
Unbundling the cold.
Scarf to the side.
Gloves to lap.
She sits.
Smiles direct.
At me.
Internal:
Oh God.
Stop.
I want coincidence to stop.
Right now.
She watches.
From corner of eye.
All the way home.
But more comes.
The lights out.
The street empty.
Snow frosts air.
Orange accompanied dark.
Empty Civilization.
Gridlocked empty streets.
Highlights slicing.
Beauty alone.
On a bus.
With God.
Off the bus.
I look back.
God in form.
Takes off.
I laugh.
I walk.
I know.
Internal:
It's over.
It's all over.
Come back God.
You scared me with coincidence.
Revived me with beauty.
And now it's gone.
The street out.
Lights out.
People in.
Lone orange light.
Dark empty.
Silent road.
Crunch under foot.
Snow sloshed.
Crisp breath.
Real night.
God gone.
He'll be back.
I hope.
Some day.
Internal.
God?
Are you there?
You've never answered me once offically.
God?
Am I supposed to just believe circumstance?
In splotchy moments?
I want to.
I need to.
I just want to get back on that ride.
I want to ask that man.
I want to make love to you as a woman.
Why is it so cold?
I never knew hands could be so cold.
Lifting.
-Matthew Koutzun
I was urged today
by God.
I wait for the bus.
It does not come.
My shoe untied.
I see it.
Feel nothing.
Then everything.
I look to see if a bus is coming.
No.
My shoe is untied.
And everything is the urge to tie it.
Everything in me is telling to to tie it.
I don't want to.
But am compeld to.
So I test him.
God.
Internal:
If I tie this shoe let the bus come.
Tied.
The bus rounds the bend.
Internal:
Parlor trick.
But I'm still open.
So I test him again.
Internal:
Speak to me God.
I walk on the bus.
Removing my Glove.
The winter wind shoving me in.
I sit at the back.
A newspaper flaps at my ass.
Stunned.
I turn.
A black man.
He smiles.
Black man.
Smiling:
Going home?
I stare.
Scared.
Puzzled.
Internal:
Which home are we talking about?
Don't you dare.
I'm not ready for that yet.
I'm silent.
Black man still.
He turns around.
Silence.
I'm urged.
I should ask him.
Internal:
Are you god?
Nothing.
I should ask him out loud.
Internal:
Are you God?
Stop messing with me.
I told you I'd be open.
I never thought this wide.
Stop this.
Make it subtle.
Girl on the bus.
Unbundling the cold.
Scarf to the side.
Gloves to lap.
She sits.
Smiles direct.
At me.
Internal:
Oh God.
Stop.
I want coincidence to stop.
Right now.
She watches.
From corner of eye.
All the way home.
But more comes.
The lights out.
The street empty.
Snow frosts air.
Orange accompanied dark.
Empty Civilization.
Gridlocked empty streets.
Highlights slicing.
Beauty alone.
On a bus.
With God.
Off the bus.
I look back.
God in form.
Takes off.
I laugh.
I walk.
I know.
Internal:
It's over.
It's all over.
Come back God.
You scared me with coincidence.
Revived me with beauty.
And now it's gone.
The street out.
Lights out.
People in.
Lone orange light.
Dark empty.
Silent road.
Crunch under foot.
Snow sloshed.
Crisp breath.
Real night.
God gone.
He'll be back.
I hope.
Some day.
Internal.
God?
Are you there?
You've never answered me once offically.
God?
Am I supposed to just believe circumstance?
In splotchy moments?
I want to.
I need to.
I just want to get back on that ride.
I want to ask that man.
I want to make love to you as a woman.
Why is it so cold?
I never knew hands could be so cold.
Lifting.
-Matthew Koutzun
Diahrea Compromise
Diahrea Compromise
Here is when the gay man finds out
that watersports aren't played in a pool,
but in streams of golden showers.
When the lesbian wants to bury herself
in the carpet of another,
but finds it clean and can't stand the smell.
What to do when the straight man can't
find euphora in the hands of a woman
since she won't indulge his asshole?
Oh diahrea compromise,
you'll find a way to fulfil yourself,
if not in one-
then in another,
and then they'll be sorry,
and so will we.
-Matthew Koutzun
Here is when the gay man finds out
that watersports aren't played in a pool,
but in streams of golden showers.
When the lesbian wants to bury herself
in the carpet of another,
but finds it clean and can't stand the smell.
What to do when the straight man can't
find euphora in the hands of a woman
since she won't indulge his asshole?
Oh diahrea compromise,
you'll find a way to fulfil yourself,
if not in one-
then in another,
and then they'll be sorry,
and so will we.
-Matthew Koutzun
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
The War Ahead -or- Worth it?
The War Ahead
-or-
Worth it?
Contemplating adversity,
worth the effort or charm
to waste the time on unfruitful battle?
Oh, I've differentiated
his thoughts aren't mine,
is it not fair to let others have their say?
Give them say, I say,
and give them a pulpit,
give an inch and make them a ruler?
Censorship is not my way,
but he contradicts himself,
so when would the battle end with him?
Make leave of his inch,
take ultimately the mile-
look back and say you saw him when.
-Matthew Koutzun
-or-
Worth it?
Contemplating adversity,
worth the effort or charm
to waste the time on unfruitful battle?
Oh, I've differentiated
his thoughts aren't mine,
is it not fair to let others have their say?
Give them say, I say,
and give them a pulpit,
give an inch and make them a ruler?
Censorship is not my way,
but he contradicts himself,
so when would the battle end with him?
Make leave of his inch,
take ultimately the mile-
look back and say you saw him when.
-Matthew Koutzun
Monday, November 06, 2006
Reverb: Nature and Machine
Reverb: Nature and Machine
Across the web in an instant-
tangled as we go,
one side to the other in an instant;
constant and variable tangled.
Enthralled, and exlierated
bondage in sticky strings,
information overload,
emansipating, and taken.
Spaces. Seen see-through,
almost walk through,
even birds are caught
in its binding strength.
Oh the venom, it sweet-
tangling the tounge
in spaces caught,
taken to overload .
-Matthew Koutzun
Across the web in an instant-
tangled as we go,
one side to the other in an instant;
constant and variable tangled.
Enthralled, and exlierated
bondage in sticky strings,
information overload,
emansipating, and taken.
Spaces. Seen see-through,
almost walk through,
even birds are caught
in its binding strength.
Oh the venom, it sweet-
tangling the tounge
in spaces caught,
taken to overload .
-Matthew Koutzun
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