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Why? So I can pursue my own passion. A quiet one that involves pen and paper and intelligence, not empty feeling, lackluster composition and gratuitous, submission wincingly sour vibrato. PLEASE be quiet. Everyone in the building (and the building behind ours) thinks you're rude, self-absorbed and improperly reared. And flat. I doubt the eighty four of us are wrong. And really... we're all just tired grown ups and want to get submission some submission goddamn sleep. In fifteen years you'll understand, but please, take my word for it before you are awakened by a band of pissed-off thirty-something carolers who gather at your windowsill while you are on the brink of being swept off by the sandman into a cool summer night of sleep and dreaming about the boy behind you in Pre-Algebra class to howl out the most tone deaf medley of Chicago's "Keep on Lovin You", Phil Collins' "Against All Odds", and Christopher Cross' "Arthurs Theme".
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