dream_world raze there are places you don't leave, and people you don't stop becoming. you never did quit the first real job you had. but you want to. you'd like to spend your remaining days furnishing portable homes too small for anyone to inhabit, filling them with alien appliances just similar enough to the objects that have cluttered up your own life to keep you cautious and curious, reorganizing their entrails until you can't tell one space from another. your house is an arsonist's unloved mistress. a grid of blistered walls. and the ground beneath you shifts. 220809 what's it to you? who go blather from