I am brother one and before I give this toast to brothers 2,3, and 4…it would be wrong of me not to mention the mother and father who gave their sons a place to play, a thing to worship, bodies to beat on, and a language to turn into slang. With that, to brothers 2 and 3, JP and Noah- thank you for fighting in front of me. I’m no peacekeeper anymore, but for a time I knew ferocity as a two-headed thing groaning toward a single and lovely event. Thanks for realizing you need each other because I need you both. Brother 2, JP- I’m glad you’re not alone and that you make people love you and that you cry sheep to the napping wolf and that you count me regardless of the sense I don’t make. Brother 3, Noah- nostalgia dictates that I take here a moment of silence for the number of times your writing, read aloud, made me believe that the dwindling attendance at our smalltown church lay solely at your feet and that one can wash a sound with body language. Brother 4, Jacob…man, thank you for waiting. wherever you are, you are waiting. Brothers get off a bus. Brothers come to the end of money. Brothers put off writing their shit poems. Brothers tell stories you have to reenact. It's terrible, but you wait. May apocalypse be the rumor you start in heaven. I love you fuckers. Now talk. Don’t forget me when I’m here.
kingsoftrain 
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