distorted raze you sent me a picture twenty years ago when you were sending everyone pictures of yourself. i tried to memorize your face, tried to make a copy of an image that was already a copy of itself, and what's left of you now is dark, curly hair. skin the colour of almond butter. two brown geodes the size of coins, themselves smaller cameras, exposing all they saw to the film strip of your mind. how long and winding a thing like that must be. mine is tangled and shredded from overuse, but it unspools to a crease where the memory of you lives, honed into permanence by the loss of detail, a sepia-toned secret. 210904 ... unhinged depression brain negativity bias i catch myself at it all the time now (meditation in action?) spinning stories about my own worth, other people's motivations the fact is the reality is probably a lot less shitty than i make it out to be 210904 what's it to you? who go blather from