Everything is autobiographical somehow. For months the magic has been poured into my ears, backwards and forwards until my soul is saturated. The golded tradition, the red weirdness, the shadowy gray backbone, the whispered intimacy of green’s vocals, the magic and mystery blue so blue. It’s leading me to words and words and words. It all fits just right to my ears and not to others. Why are my ears the shape they are? The quinity of it all, a term I made up yet persists in my brain so that I sing it as part of Hoods.