Warm Mug of Phantom Poetry

That all of you want to come join the podcast and drink tea and read poetry with me reach out and dm me at n.j.saroff --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

This episodes talks about some topics such as homophobic gender dysphoria and suicide. Maybe skip about 13 minutes when i bring up those content warning. I have changed my name to Nichémat and have update my pronouns to they he. Going to try to make this podcast more monthly than weekly but maybe we'll get some extra episodes I'll also be publishing scripts of episodes upon requests as i don't have enough characters to print it in my description. If you'd like to make. Donation reach out to my insta n.j.saroff to keep this podcast going. Lots of warmth and love to all of you enjoy a cup of tea and some poetry with me --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Welcome to episode 18 of njs warm mug of phantom poetry if you new the podcast I'm NJ Saroff a Also known as the phantom poet on SoundCloud This podcast best enjoyed a cup of tea and today's tea is Today's poems are what someone would put on my tombstone, letters to your Shadow, where wind would take me and human And the poem of the week is there is no greater crime than leaving by Bertolt brecht What someone else would put on your tombstone Here lies Natalie my full name would be printed on my tombstone I would not be able to make a correction or fix any of the gendered words used on to it it would say she lies here or she lived a good life She was a writer she was everything at the same time she was nothing she wanted to be she was a daughter, she was an actress, she was absolutely nothing she she she I was not a she when I died I want to be the he, the they, I want people to respect the gender that I I found myself in I want the name NJ printed on my stone I know that's a lot to ask for I know that Natalie is the name they wanted I know that Natalie has meaning but I don't connect with Natalie it's like we're two different people in the room one is called NJ, the other called Natalie, NJ is demiboy or non-binary Natalie is girl we aren't friends we would walk by each other in the hallway and ignore the other We do know that the other exists and that some people prefer one over the other and that some wish that one would just go away and die To die nameless to disappear and not bother any more to correct people on pronouns or names or the gender identity How you say daughter instead of child mother instead of parent gurl instead of pal sometimes I wish I was nameless formless non existent then they would have nothing to get wrong But I exist so please just listen before you put me in the ground and move on Letter to your shadow Dear shadow Shall I call you my dark twin Surely you are not evil You are simply a reflection You take on my form, my outline Magnify and shrink it You desire the light though you aren't seen in the night You are my longest and oldest friend every time I've been alone not in darkness but in the light that shines you have found me and in a way almost held me you do not speak But maybe you do not need to You do listen better than I do I've always wondered what's it like on the other side for you to always follow to never go your own to create their outline instead of your own I wonder if you miss me the way I miss you when it is too dark or when I am under shade I wonder if you think of me in those times when I am away I wonder if you wait for the light wait for the sun, smile at its arrival or if you don't want to be seen you want to hide if you want to remain invisible dearest Shadow you are my oldest and longest friend You have seen me through everything You know all my secrets I don't know if you wanted to but you do and now forever it will be just us two I have vivid dreams my thoughts paint images of days and weeks that stretch on in 2 years my memories I fall asleep the colorful visions of old times I called myself an artist yet I seem to only produce my best work in my head never fully able to put it out on the paper with brush or pen a dream of my masterpiece the words flowing so quickly the brush not shaking in my hand I tremble at the thought of making something beautiful it's not that I don't think I'm beautiful I do think I'm beautiful but there's something mystical about art shape its words how do we humans feel worthy enough to make it why do we feel the need to capture all the moments around us I call myself a writer I call myself an artist call myself a playwright I call myself a poet I call myself human and I think that's the only phrase that best describes me Where I'd like the wind to take me Back to the days of my youth Back to when I was closeted Back to when I claimed silence to be my one true friend Back to dating simply so I could --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Welcome to episode 17 of NJ warm mug of phantom poetry I'm NJ Saroff also known as the phantom poet on SoundCloud This podcast is best enjoyed with a cup of tea and today's tea is Today's poems are a poem for destructo, a poem to mousetrap, to Georgia and sunflowers by van Gogh and the poem of the week verses 1, 20, 21, and 51 from song of myself by Walt Whitman To Georgia O'Keefe Bathed in colors are the roaring flowers springing to the curves of life growing out of the page blossoming into magnificent shapes, paint droplets circling and bubbling around the edges A flower, a forest, It could be anything and everything What do you find in the painting Poem for mousetrap I'm a glutton for food Hearing my bowl get filled puts me in the mood I love play I lay on humans and make them stay give me attention all through the day When I see a mouse I don't just pounce I stalk and wait till it's the perfect date to grab it up and eat it up And say oh yum cause I'm a cat that likes to have fun My fur is black like the night I'm always ready to cheer my owners up just right I jump onto there thighs when they want to cry and I purr till their filled with delight I love to sit on laps My name is mousetrap Poem for sunflower Van Gogh Van Gogh was not just a man of madness His Happiest picture was maybe also his saddest Sunflowers spark joy Yet this painting seems coy They sit in a vase drooping down Missing the dirt missing the ground Losing their petals Waiting for the water to settle Where did the sky go The flowers do not know They just hold their blooms Filling the air with sweet perfumes A poem to Destructo In the box is where I'll stay I do not want to come out and play I want to lay in my box Wait for lovely to pet me in the box Sometimes I do like to climb My fur is nice and fluffy All the humans think it's so lovely And lick my fur to unwind If I see a mouse I get ready to pounce I always miss but my owner still gives me a kiss They love me even when telling me no My name is Destructo The final poem for this week is song of myself by Walt whitman Walt Whitman was an American poet, essayist, and journalist. Bornin  May 1819, he was a humanist, who was a part of the transition between transcendentalism and realism, incorporating both views in his works. Whitman is among the most influential poets in the American canon, often called the father of free verse. He Died in March of 1892 Song of Myself (1892 version) BY WALT WHITMAN 1, 20, 21,and 51 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death. Creeds and schools in abeyance, Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten, I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, Nature without check with original energy --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

What I miss I dreamed of you last night the way you used to be, the way you felt, the way you seemed, on the outside, never who you really were, on the inside, you are so much different in my dream, almost like, how you used to be, at the same, time better than who you ever were, I dreamed I could pick you apart, and then put the pieces back together, and we could start over, but we don't even talk anymore, we don't even see each other, I don't even know if you're alive or not, I hope you're okay, I hope you're good, but at the same time I wish I didn't care, I wish I didn't still think about you, I wished, that when we stopped conversations, that my life stopped having you in it, in my head, but it didn't, I didn't, I never stopped, I think what sucks is that the world keeps spinning, and I'm spinning in an entirely different direction than the earth, and I get dizzy easily, from all the thoughts clustering in my head, I don't know how to stop them, I obsess over them, you used to silence them, with the simplicity that was you, I think that's what I miss most, not you persay, but the silence you gave to me, the quiet, I know you weren't good for me, and I know I wasn't good for you, I know the two of us together were thid toxic Force, we just drove each other crazy, but I do miss you I know you don't care about I know you won't even see this, I know you don't miss me. But I still miss the idea of you and I don't know what to do April 14 . For these next 2 poem the prompt I chose to do came from 2 separate final sentances the first comes from the April edition of poetry magazine the part The part that makes me want to close my ears and run away and buy unsettling me so profoundly convinces me of her Divinity her demand that I recognize in myself the humanity she sees and she summons us to see as her Offspring and her dwelling place as love is revealed Love There's a part that wants us to close our ears and run away run so far that we will not know how to return back, We will forget who we are We will forget where we came from And we will never return and we think this is all well and good until we miss her until we miss the world until we miss all that came before us all that once existed And she in her beauty and divinity, in all her grace and pleasure She will call to us She'll so profoundly convince us to recognize ourselves and the humanity she sees so present in us. She summons us to see, as her Offspring, and her dwelling place, the love slowly being revealed that we tried to hide away from. She will love, it is all she knows how to do, she will love us even when we curse the name of love, She will love us even when we cannot love ourselves, She will hold us when there is no one to hold us, She the grace and beauty this invisible force We do not see her But she is there And Sometimes we do not want her But she is there from afar she is lonely And she only craves to make us happy To hurt or the harm was never Love's intension, Though we may believe it to be, We want to close off We want to run away we want to forget her beauty and her grace her pleasures that she gives to us We want to see no more of her and forget ourselves Love is in her dwelling place She continues to call, continues to reach out, continues to wait She has not given up on us So we can not give up on love. The Other quote is from Circe by Madeline miller the final sentance of that book was I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink Esteem I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink, I inhale with each sip. I take every last drop in. Then I lower the bowl and smile. For so long I was afraid to even hold this bowl To even look at it Now it's in my hands Now it's empty I have done what I thought I'd never do. I have taken a sip. lt has felt wonderous, beautiful, I breathe in Finally, A sigh of relief, Of thanks, I didn't think I was worthy of taking the sip Of drinking in the whole bowl --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

My email: [email protected]. Something about Summers always makes me want to cry  Something about sunny days and storms And then the cloudless nights always makes me crave another In the long days of summer it’s moments like this where things that once made sense for so long suddenly don’t  Something about summer and the freedom it provides that should be safe and welcoming but really it’s tackling me till I can’t breathe  Something about summer how sadness creeps in like tidal waves Something about tidal waves drowning me in a sea of memories Something about the beginning of July how I suddenly feel the need to give in and not try I’ve never liked the heat that makes me shiver more than the cold  Something about summer makes you want to go out but I prefer to stay in or under Something about the anxiety that comes with the thunder  I hate summer all the love, pain, and that burning golden sun, I Want to run, I want it to end  Yet once it’s over  I wait for its return Peaceful at ease mesmerized by the breeze chlorine filling the air, leaving one without a single care The splash of the pool The weather not to hot or cool Blue is the water birds do not bother The day is perfect for a swim The patrons jump in on a whim The swings blow on their own accord on the wind, Nothing about being here is a bore hair pinned back in a bun skin hugged by the sun Smooth are the waves people make with their Dives is this what it feels like to be alive? t The chwmical waves crash around you, The sky cloudy but still blue it's The first time summer is happy and not a bummer Creeping up from the corners of your mouth lips grining in the heat of the South A smile you thought had gone astray for miles Laughter is all around, it's almost an unrecognizable sound it's all so serain like something out of a dream, You notice then that the world is beautiful and life is suitable again to breathe to not leave It all make sense As the moon climbs over the fence The sun sinking down No reason to frown Starlit night The crickets chirp going to be alright And as the frogs jump by And you find a spot in the grass to lie Gazing up With your spirit about to erupt From the joy you haven't felt by being so coy Ode to summer and all it wonder Ode to earth and all it brings assunder, how lovely is it all, the season before all the leaves begin to fall. Spring time Dandilions peaking out from the ground Daisies bursting from the soil Dog wood blooms on the trees Daffodils gathering in the dirt Violets brighting the earth Iris laying around the gardens Roses covering the bushes Feilds of lilac Trees of blue Hills of red Spring where have you been Oh how we forgot you when grey was all that was seen When white took more than the stars that gleam Here you are sunny and golden Beautiful bright breezy The trees with their leaves return from their dead slumber Storms come to life with thunder Walk with me, it's spring time Dance in the rain, winter is over Lay in the ground, fall asleep in the warmth, Run through the feilds it's alive here Hike the mountains and see the sun as it displays everywhere Honeysuckle sips, from the trees the seeds spread the butterflies come out, the birds return, the squirls return, it's spring it sings, let the sounds ring, happy in what this season brings. --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Here is Jen Fagala reading it's wild geese by Mary oliver You do not have to be good.You do not have to walk on your kneesfor a hundred miles through the desert repenting.You only have to let the soft animal of your bodylove what it loves.Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.Meanwhile the world goes on.Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rainare moving across the landscapes,over the prairies and the deep trees,the mountains and the rivers.Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,are heading home again.Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,the world offers itself to your imagination,calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -over and over announcing your placein the family of things. What disociating feels like Sometimes I forget I'm writing While I'm actaully writing It's like I'm just watching myself writing Like I'm focussed on it but zoned out while doing it It's like riding a bicycle and looking up at the sky and you forget your pedaling and feel like you're just walking while watching looking up at the clouds, I guess it's odd to use that metaphor because I still don't know how to ride a bike, some would say this means writing is fluid to me comes naturally I can do it in my sleep, but I think it's cause my mind drift, its like I'm on another planet but I don't know how I got there maybe it's a moon because I can feel the gravitational pull of another planet pulling me down and I can do nothing about it I'm from another planet I feel like I'm watching everything it's a completely different planet then the first two mentioned but there I am watching this moon be pulled by another planet through a telescope and I am Bound by telescope unable to Move It from that position of watching and yet I even look through a telescope in years so how can I use a metaphor about telescope when I don't even know how to use one. Sometimes while doing something I feel like I'm not the person doing it, like I'm not really there, it's like being trapped in a cloud which is partially gas, but distracted you because it's fluffy and light, and as it floats away with you in it you see that it's hard to capture it hard to pull it down so you lay in the sky stuck to the cloud, watching from above the life that is happening with someone who is you but doesn't feel like you. I've never touched a cloud never felt a cloud I just know how to describe them but maybe they aren't like that at all, maybe disociate is something indescribable like the cloud. I disociation, tiptoe away from reality and begin to tell someone else story, I tell of the lives of others that effected me, but not my own story, my mind wanders away from the page and I think about the people who die in winter i wonder how do you dig a grave in the cold frozen soil beneath the fresh snow of the morning Ground. I should not be thinking about death while breathing life into these words while giving birth to a poem but I am, maybe we look up at the sky, not because we see the beauty but draw our eyes away from falling off the flipped over bike. Vaccination for anxiety: after plath By N. J. Saroff 2018 The moans of those lost never wanting to be found are left to their own devices they shake the building with their vibrations, the walls inhale their cries of pain, the paint chips off and sticks to the hollow grave yard beds they sleep in. In the middle of the night doctor depression walks in the door squeaking open, I do not wake to the sound of his presence. His sharp needle stabs me in the brain, injecting me with a sadness serum, I do not flinch, I have come to expect this ritual, I only exhale fog into the cold empty night of darkness. The white of the room is stained yellow by age, the sheets once grey have a brownish tint to them now, the nervous nurse closes the window, chaining the balcony to stop the flyers. The rainy winds flood the lake, we drown ourselves in bath tubs, our burial homes swept away by the storm. --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Episode 13 Welcome to episode 13 of NJ warm mug of phantom poetry If you're new to the podcast I'm NJ Saroff also known as the phantom poet on SoundCloud This podcast is best enjoyed with a cup of tea this week we've had this huge outpouring pandemic of coronavirus I did not run any poems about coronavirus but I have written poems about being sick not physically sick because that topic is always just weird for me I hate being physically sick but mentally sick is what I wanted to talk about specifically depression and PTSD while my anxiety makes me very sick I decided that I would kind of extend this topic over two ways cuz there's just so many poems and I'll talk more about my anxiety next week today's poems are anxiety arrose, how is your day, mirror conversations and depression feel like, And the poem of the week Is the loneliest sweet potato by Sara benaim and butterfly the gnarled by Amy king Anxiety arose trembling hands fight frail weakness of my body my knees crumble as I shiver into a puddle of nervesmy brain is lying with the unfocused loud energy of racing thoughts that can't be silenced I tried to sit but can't try to stand still but it won't constant motion fills my limbs spiking my heart rate into a frenzy is shiki smile creeps upon my mouth trying to hide my violent hyperventilating I have forgotten how to breathe I do not know how to stop I am having a panic attack and all I wanted to do is let go of the world and get out of my head and flee my body How was your day How's your day she asked from across the table I took a breathe in to remind myself I had to be stable it's been an uneventful day a Lazy day wishing to fade away to lay in bed, not talk instead to be lonely tired anxious annoying not inspired lack of vivacious you see I do not want to do anything today my mind is a black hole of a mess the stars that used to be glimmering in my eyes have faded I am now just explosions Fireballs asteroids the meteor shower coming in your direction I have nothing to offer today I am no Blue Sky I don't really want to be alive today is one of those days and doing my clothes are the only thing that might bring me some kind of joy I'm exhausted drained I feel like somebody actually dumped a whole trash load on to me like I am the dumpster or maybe I'm the sink drain and you decided today was the day to clog the sink with all of the issues and I don't mean you as in the person across the the table I mean you as in my depression and anxiety, today is not a good day I am an emotional wreck like I feel like I got into a car crash while I was asleep and I woke up unable to move for most of the day and the pain mentally and physically was the worst thing, I've barely eaten I've barely gone near the stove I'm literally just sitting in my coat here talking to some stranger who will only hear half of what I'm saying my underwear from yesterday is still on, my clothes are just barely changed I haven't showered yesterday took a bath so that's a start and I swore I was fine yesterday but right now I am not fine most people by now know this is not unusual they know that there are days when I completely hide myself in the world lock myself in the room, like go into a box where the sun can't find me turn off my phone, play music really loud on my record player read a fucking poetry book and ignore my existence, there are plenty of days when I see many messages me and I say hey I don't feel like talking today there are plenty of days when I make my Facebook status of do not disturb there are plenty of days when I say could you please just shut the fuck up because my brain hurts and it wants to leave my fucking skull so could you please just go I'm sorry I need to be alone and I know this is rude but it's one of those days when I just want to be left alone and I want to go home crawl in my bed and just hide for a few hours and forget that there is life that I have to live, that there are things that I have to do, --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

Episode 12 Welcome to episode 12 of NJ warm mug of phantom poetry If you're new to the podcast I'm NJ Saroff also known as the phantom poet on SoundCloud This podcast is best enjoyed with a cup of tea This week I wanted to talk about memories I'm very good at picturing memories but not as good at holding onto the when and where of memories but poetry has helped me record important memories in my life Im including a trigger warning today as 2 of the poems I chose mention sexual assult and trauma and self harm This week's poems are how, wishes, and a poem to owings mills and the poem of the week is permanent home by Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, How by naticat I fell in love once Maybe twice now that I think about it Okay I’m sure I have only ever been in love 3 times. Each one ended different, he didn’t want me to be anything more than his fuck buddy, she didn’t like me the way I liked her, and they only liked the idea of dating me, not actually dating me. Suddenly surrounding me are people with very real emotions Very real feelings for me what am I to tell them, being honest seems so dishonest and wrong yet its who i am, I just want a fuck buddy who is just as inappropriate as I am, I just don’t like them the way they like me, I just prefer the idea of dating rather than actually dating How can someone love someone who has become the mere thing that the person they loved hated the most, how can someone look at that person they love and even utter the words I love you to them, I never wanted to be this way, I was sculpted this way by others, its not my fault, I give you a chance then I push you away . You ask me what I want but I Dont know, I never know. You say I can fall in love again, but I fall out of love so quickly You Dont want me, Dont tell me you need me, I am no good for you. When I fall in love I Dont stop being in love the feeling never goes away. I’m still hurt inside from those 3 who I know didn’t mean to hurt me. How can you love someone like that? You deserve better than this. I wish my mind mesmorized recipes over bed sheets, birthdays over hand prints, Book quotes over those lies I want to remember appointment times, instead of the anger lines that creased against his face Recall the flavor of hot cocoa not the way his lips taste against my skin Can I remember song lyrics instead of the bed we slept in I don't want to replay the way he stole my breathe away How his sigh ate my cries for help I feel so frantic in the places we used to go, a simple trigger and once again my tongue can't form a single word but no. Sometimes I find myself picking at this wound on my brain maybe if I drive myself insane I'll forget him. Be able to hold on to the memories of my lover Kiss, or old photographs, or the morning mist I want to remember the good parts of my life Not the metaphorical way he dug in his knife Sometimes I find myself waking up in his room even when I am so away from that house of doom And I just want to cry, cry about the nights, rid every nerve of the guilt from all the fights But I have carefully tucked his touch into every crevice of my body, made sure i couldnt escape his laugh in my ear, I still drown in his scent, and deep down I think I still care, I check his Facebook profile once a month to see who's remained friends with him despite the fact they know what he did, every time the number goes up, anger boils in me and i can feel it about to erupt I can not eject the shards he left me with, they dig into the cuts that reject the process of healing I am left with gripping onto him the same way he held onto to my limbs Careful not to leave a see able mark, but visibile anytime love leaked out of my heart. 2-15-19 When i was younger I remember how clean the streets were they used to glisten shine in the sunlight when you're young you think everything is alright but now trash lines the Roads and I don't know where to go so I stay in owings mills, ive lived in owings mills 13 years, --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

I wish savored your lips I wish I gave you one more kiss I should have memorized your skin against mine I should have asked you for more time I wonder if in a few months you'll forget me And I'll be a distant memory I want know if you really meant that you wanted us to be just friends or if in a few years it all come crashing to an end We'll go our separate ways Lie to eachother about how everything's okay Do you think we'll miss the other Or will we force ourselves to move on with another Cause I don't want to try this anymore, This searching only to end up at closed doors your voice is in my head As I imagine lying in your bed Us saying those 3 Words But now I want to leave them gone and unheard I can't erase your face I miss the way that you taste This just doesn't feel fair Why am I stubborn? why do i care? If I pretend it isn't real Maybe it will fix itself and we'll quietly heal But it's happened its in the past Like summer it's not going to last Fall will arrive with it's dying leaves We'll grow again find new pieces I'm just waiting for the funeral When the body won't feel so dull When I look into the coffin and see our love And how in an instant it finally came undone What we dont say We don’t say I love you We don’t say I miss you We don’t say I’m thinking of you Sometimes we don’t even say good night That’s not even polite I send you well wishes You’ve left my emotions needing stitches We act like just friends If only i had this end If i could rewind If we had just taken our time If we could just say it again I love you my friend You’ll always be more to me You helped set my heart free Picked me up when I would fall Listened to my boundaries and walls I swear you gave it your all But you said you didn’t get the butterflies So now I’m stuck here about to cry My heart still flutters Some nights i still mutter They come out in a stutter Those 3 words Its probably absurd Cause you don’t feel the same way I wish I was okay I wish you could stay I wish i didn’t have to go away You say you’re still here But i don’t see you any where Kisses don’t feel the same The numbness is to blame Why are we dragging this through the earth Letting it collect mud and dirt I don’t hate you I never will Yet still I wish it was different Cause we don’t say the things we used to We dont say the things that matter As we grow apart we both grow sadder I wanna run and get out Figure out how to forget about The nights in bed The things you said The hugs that were so long How you hold me and it still doesn’t feel wrong I look into your eyes I could live in the feeling of being mesmerised Take my hand One last dance again But we don’t We wont We don’t say the things we used to And i still love you lead on the longer i stay the more youll get hurt yes i love you love the way your lips feel  love the way you smell  love the way you laugh love the way your voice feels against my ear when we lie next one another love the way your hand fits in mine love the way you smile staring into those blues grey sometimes green eyes, i couldnt see my life without you but when you are lying next to me  sometimes i dont want to have sex sometimes i just want to hold you close and cry but the longer i hold your hand the longer i kiss you  the longer i keep you laughing the longer i stare into your eyes the more i wish i could tell you the truth that this hurts that sex hurts by saying nothing i am finding myself each day hating who I am  you dont deserve someone awful like me who will never crave you the wave you crave me i dont even see myself as a girl, you think i am a girl, but i dont feel like a girl  i am not always attracted to men atleast not sexually or maybe im not attracted to you but i like you i just dont want to have sex with you’ but i need you to let me go To the one I cant let go of I’m sick of telling this lie Faking okay as you leave and walk on by I don’t wanna cry I sit in bed unable to try The --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app