and_deaden_it raze there are two set lists on the piano's music desk. i don't look at either one. i know where i want to go: fifteen years into the past. i can't recall the name of my own song, but i will the words and chords to return a little at a time. ashley heckles me. she says i'm sure to lose my audience if i keep fucking around. no one came here to see a puppet show. i guess that makes me the marionette. so who's pulling the strings? everyone files out for a twenty-minute intermission. that gives me time to work out the kinks. whatever i can't call back from the seahorse in my skull, i'll improvise something new in its place. pete's mother has made dolls for everyone out of banana bread. mine looks like raggedy ann with a dye job and a tan. i can't bring myself to take a bite out of her. i'm about to start playing for keeps when someone i don't know messes with the sound. they lower the volume of my voice until i can't hear myself speak. i'd call it a metaphor, but it's just the truth i'm living through. 250124 what's it to you? who go blather from