You’ve always known you were different. You were the kid reading Chomsky in the back of the room while the teacher was wiping the dribble of little Timmy’s chin. You were the person whistling Lucille Ball songs at a Pantera gig. You are the one who drinks carrot juice at a blues bar. You are the sound of One Ham Clapping. Check out this mantra made of cotton in the Shirtalogue.