directive raze he hit the table with one hand, a drummer without his kit or a set of sticks. that's the sound that punctuates the end of each creative act, he said. it's what you latch onto — inspiration embedded in the webbing of the world you've made. between each bang, he sang: look for that rhythm you can't have. go find a rhythm. don't be sad. 231011 what's it to you? who go blather from