And you still can't imagine the results without blurring and often removing the lines between composition and improvisation, between acoustic and electronic sound, and between the percussive counterpoint posed by Staley's trombone to the weird lyricism Frisell manages to achieve with gutturally synthesized blocks of sound.

No evening I had passed at Bly had the portentous quality of this one; in spite of which—and in spite also of the deeper depths of consternation that had opened beneath my feet—there was literally, in the ebbing actual, an extraordinarily sweet sadness.

Gretzky scored in the last minute of the second period.

Earth's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest roots, / And scarce the summer luxury of fruits, / His short repast in humbleness supply / With all a hermit's board would scarce deny.