the infectious tyranny of the beat. i'm sitting here reading fresh dirt from the grave and my head starts bobbing unconsciously to the beat coming from the empty lot by the train tracks and i switch to directions to myself and it's got a vortex of arrows on the cover, appropriate, and again my head starts bobbing. what else can you do in range of the tyranny of the beat, but bob your head, swivel in your blue reading chair (if you be so lucky), wiggle your toes, and move your captivated feet.