edible raze there are nine hundred channels of nothing on satellite tv tonight. mannequins make love in a drab dressing room. childhood_asthma takes a sabbatical as two friends fall back on a well-made bed and let sleep smear what's left of their smiles. i'm learning that a handshake is only as good as its weakest link. as if i didn't already know. when all you're given to work with is a finger, there isn't much you can do to salvage the moment. you squeeze that single digit and move_on. every distant relative i haven't seen in half as long as i've been living is smiling at me like they're in on a joke someone's been telling about me behind my back. i'm sure there's some truth tucked into that paranoid thought. but i'm the only one with edible soap in my shower enclosure. so suck on that, grandma faron. 250413 what's it to you? who go blather from