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: You play C, F and G? Jon Burroughs
: Yeah. Don
: You're in.
[During a show, Frank falls to the floor in pain
] Jon Burroughs
: What's wrong? Frank
] Your music's shit...
: Wow, this is beautiful. What do you call it? Clara
: Stay away from my fucking theremin.
: He said I was cherishable, and he picked me to join the band. Clara
: You are fingers being told which keys to push. Jon Burroughs
: I push my own keys... Clara
: Ten little bits of bone and skin. Jon Burroughs
: And I'm perfectly capable of going to my furthest corners and composing music. Clara
: Your furthest corners? Jon Burroughs
: My furthest corners. Clara
: Someone needs to punch you in the face.
: Can I ask you something? Frank
: Sure. Jon Burroughs
: Why do you wear that? Frank
: ...do you think it's weird? Jon Burroughs
: Kinda. Frank
: Well, normal faces are weird, too. You know, the way they're smooth... smooth... smooth... and blech! You know? All bumpy and holes, I mean, what are eyes like? It's like a science fiction movie. Don't get me started on lips. Like the edges of a severe wound. Jon Burroughs
: That's true. But your head is still sort of intimidating. Frank
: Well, underneath it I'm giving you a welcoming smile. Would it help if I said my facial expressions out loud? Jon Burroughs
: Well... maybe. Frank
: Welcoming smile.
: [after improvising Lone Standing Tuft
] It's silly. Jon Burroughs
: Frank... that's amazing. Frank
: Flattered grin. Followed by bashful half-smile.
: What goes on inside that head... inside that head?
] Despite all the hardships I have suffered here, something inside me is beginning to stir. I've come to realize that this is my Bluff, Kansas. That here in Vetno, I have found my abusive childhood, my mental hospital. That which pushes me to my furthest corners.