When I feel this perfect — astonished, productive, placed just right, in love, happy, in the higher power’s current with my feet lifted up til I am carried along — a part of my gut is cognizant of the flip side. You know general doom, fear, pain and anti-hope. It is an ache. Just like Rachel Whiteread’s sculptures of the negative space of things. I once saw an exhibit of her bathtub absence sculptures and their rows turned into tombs. See, the pleasure of a bath and a death reminder at once! It’s that old shoe dropping thing — the trick is to make the sound of that drop into the first note of a song.