Back then--even in the culture of the suburbs--winning seemed important.
The weather was arranged to suit red wine and black t-shirts.
The only thing more important than family was infidelity,
And I was hot-to-trot and distanced from all obscene gardens; freed from the expectations of TeenAged Dreams.
I was overwhelmed by the varying terrain of the emotional landscapes--and lost in them, too.
And so I began to write at night. One's always alone best with one's thoughts at night.
So, how to convey the sweet with disaster became my theme in its most serpentine--
A love song to all the Steely Dan commandos.
Their waking hours became newer births and sadder truths.
And you were just in time to see my New, I swear:
Poisons--in their youth--still can kill (and tend never miss their timely cues).