crashing raze i watch an airplane come as close to kissing the roof of a house as a flying thing can without crashing, and i feel my stomach turn. i want to shoot it right out of the sky. but my finger is not a firearm. i can only take aim and listen for the soft click of spent flesh failing itself. you say every system, no matter how flawed or corrupt, is built on principle. that sounds like little more than a hopeful lie to me. i vomit undigested cereal on the stairs that lead to my grandmother's kitchen and fall face-first into the mess. you tell me to wake up when all i want to do is drift into a dream without end. let me sleep here in the sweet mud of my own unmaking. just let me be. 260514 what's it to you? who go blather from