It’s a hot and rainy evening here in Possibility City, and the suicide of Anthony Bourdain has popped up, plastered and trending everywhere, which means I’m drinking beer, smoking well and listening to 808s & Heartbreak, the somber, ultra-reflective, experimental masterpiece by one Kanye West, in an attempt to come down and sober up from having drank in too much new music from Kanye West the night before. It’s been a wild four weeks living with the greatest artist in any medium of the 21st century, to say the least. Like, I’m in a sonic-hair-of-the-dog situation, so to speak, when Shelby comes bursting into the room and tells me to open the blinds and look at the sky. A storm system is sitting directly over our house. It’s suddenly dark out and, in a voice drenched in pain, Mr. West comes quaking from the boombox “Memories made in the coldest winter/ goodbye my friend/ will I ever love again?” Kanye, like me, is a fan of “Tears for Fears” and suddenly the memory of every loved one in my life who has attempted, or successfully, committed suicide shifts in my soul. “Damn it” I mutter to myself “Kanye has struck again.”

Unless you live under a rock with the Dead-Head symbol carved on top of it, you are probably somewhat aware that Kanye is in the middle of a song-making cycle, Herculean in vision and execution. He’s releasing five albums of seven songs apiece to be dropped on five Fridays in a row, and so far he’s three for three.

It’s this sort of manic creativity and personal daring that keeps us Kanye fans jumping out of bed and hooking up for another G.O.O.D. Friday installment. It’s our speaker-shredding Eucharist, our invite to enter the mind space of Yeezus. And we dare not say no.