Dear Udderbot,

    I'm really glad you came along. Just when I was getting altogether too distracted in the minutae of micro-tunings you snapped me back to the visceral reality of sharing the making of music. I am not your sole cause; you were meant to be. Be free, udderbot, grow and have a life of your own. The world may be too much for me to handle, but I'm confident that you are too much for the world to handle.

    You really are a very suggestive instrument. Almost human with your hand, reaching out to touch the player as much as e is touching you. You warm up to the touch. You breathe in and out in time to my squeezes. You would resonate with all things, if they would only come close enough. You ooze patience: in being discovered and invented by humans, in my attempts to coax you into the highest planes of ecstasy, in your slow, purposeful drip of content and container.

    Udderbot, you are already free. Now free all of us.