We exist, I believe, in one of infinite universes.

In this one, I’m the Trevor who plays in a soul band and fool heartedly writes songs about his feelings, hoping people will like them and, in turn, him. I maintain a gentleman’s six out of ten in terms of not wanting to hurl himself into oncoming traffic.

In another, objectively more badass universe, there’s a Trevor, no doubt tattooed and drowning in female attention, living out this Trevor’s ultimate fantasy - singing playfully satanic songs in a masked, Swedish pop/metal band.

He’s out there, that faux-demonic, mellifluous son of a bitch, and, in my weakened, cold-ridden state, I’m happy for him.

I should probably mention I’ve been watching this interview with Ghost’s Tobias Forge, which is totally feeding my jealousy.