and_i_don't_want_to_know raze right up until the point i turn to yell, the modern-day man walks among the injured and acts like he doesn't have a chance. he wants to be seen. he wants to be said. like river teeth. like the tongue of a bed. he leaves this terminal world, a prime his plumb with its existential plume. he works it out so there's almost nothing left. "i'm the king, i are," he says. i almost know what he means. 260906 what's it to you? who go blather from