28 years after release, 19 years since discovery, 16 years since “Lost in Translation”, My Bloody Valentine’s “Sometimes” still pounds in my heart as a lost dream of what can be and what could be, of thick nights, of dreams and wishes and warmth, of the fuzz and fur and the longing and the satisfaction. Sometimes. It’s barely there, but it sings strong. It stings and soothes. It’s the sound of my wasted nights and lost youth. I don’t know what it is. But I know she isn’t there. She. Nobody was ever there. They. They were always there. The memories. The dreams. The false memories and true hopes. The simulacrum persists, haunting, ghostly, guiltily, ghastly. Grindingly. Noisily. Tearfully. Sometimes.