Watching a bluegrass festival on California public broadcast television--surrounded on all sides by more artificial wood panneling than any one man was ever meant to tollerate--I wonder what my conscience is. I wonder how a mind can be conflicted. And the little pain in the back of my throat feels like a misplaced patch of desert. Where did the water go?...

And now my thoughts all return to stardust (what an amazing young lady she is).

I think I like bluegrass music, in moderation. The harmonies are too redundant.
And life really is too short for redundant harmonies.
(Bring on the banjo)