I’m sorry to take a dump on your favourite childhood passtime, but dump I must. You see, I disagree with the idea that the 8s were “crazy”. The 8s were the trailblazers. The 8s were the ones who bucked tradition.
All the other cards have to “follow suit” — you know, oh, a club, well, you have to be another club if you want in.
That shit is basically racist!
Not to mention conformist.  It’s sad really, it makes me sad.  Sad like a boy stroking the hair of his …

It’s just too easy. A conclusion is the capstone of the work. To merely reduce the physical stimulus of a work until it is indistinguishable from background noise is an insult to all involved. It’s an analogue to drifting slowly to sleep. How could these proud artists subscribe to such a thing? I would wager that they didn’t even do the fade-out themselves, some ornery audio-boardsman who fancies himself a “technician” likely finger-straddled fader and rode it down to -999db.

Thankfully, for reasons that nobody understands now, the fade-out has itself faded from the public discourse, being replaced by bombastic and confident conclusions that divide themselves from the great whisper of nothingness with maximum contrast. Conclusions are drawn hard and there can be no mistaking when a work of art ends and nothingness begins.

There is probably, and I say “probably” half-heartedly (but that whole-heartedly), probably nothing more frustrating than people and their bizarre elevator behaviour.  Sometimes someone will get off, become confused, get back on, and then explain to everyone who just witnessed their unassailable asininity that “that wasn’t my floor” or “oh I guess that wasn’t the eighth”, as though now their behaviour is permissible because they acknowledged it with a wry half-smile.  Think again.
It was quite obvious when you stepped out of the elevator for but three seconds before returning that …