cut_and_paste raze time has erased the name of the person i was writing to. whoever my unwitting audience was, i spent a year and a half bleeding black ink between the lines of a thick leather-bound book. all for them. then the reservoir ran dry. the unfinished tome begins with some amount of misguided hope and ends in unchecked acrimony. between those two extremes are a sticker advertising a former friend's music, download codes for the only existing blind faith album and "journal for plague lovers" by manic street preachers, a small painting that depicts someone with a featureless face pressing an unpeeled orange into the hollow of one shoulder, and a polaroid picture i took of myself with my hair down. i had this idea to cut panels out of water-damaged comic books and break up the text with the fistfights and overwrought monologues of mutants, aliens, and masked vigilantes. i wanted to merge those yellowed and bowed strips of paper with the pale pages i called my own, aided by a grade school glue stick that still held a charge. but i ran out of words before that pointless little project could get off the ground. and a little more of the skin that cloaks the dead animal my love lives in flakes off every time i touch it. 240217 what's it to you? who go blather from