The Melbourne scene is full of shit. Full of pretentious, raging assholes who think black is the new death and Jack is the king. Who knows what belligerent lies murk beneath the surface. In truth the only thing which holds authentic solace is the droning noise which underlie the fake and fresh face that take hold of us all. Every day is the same, the same tune at the same pitch which continues until we take hold. It is painful how treacherous that tune can be. No one will tell us the truth. Nothing changes, just seems different at the outset, but the onset is the same.
Life in is forever in Bb.