bloodsuckers raze i wrote the story longhand in a spiral notebook late one well-lit night in an apartment on wyandotte street east. it was about vampires. when language failed me, words became images. i sketched a building in black ballpoint. scribbled a playground with a red slide. flimsy but functional. one tale led to a whole pile of them. a bit of darkness for each dormant day my mind steered me too far from dreaming. this first narrative is what he's chosen to adapt into a film. he's hired a relative unknown to play my part. some lanky kid with greasy hair and glasses. he doesn't look a thing like me. our city's favourite tambourine-shaking shit stain is set to star as himself. the crowdfunding campaign struggles to make it over the hump as we speak. i call the man in charge without really calling him at all. a friend watches his face fall. he says the word "no" until it loses all meaning, too full of fear to even cough up a lame excuse for his blatant act of creative theft. all those years he spent trying to hone a fake british accent, and he can't even piss in a straight line when he gets caught with his pants down. 230703 what's it to you? who go blather from