edits raze i think i sometimes spend more time editing than i do puking up whatever i have to say. i twist the smallest lumps of wordclay out of shape. work them between my fingers. try to abrade what isn't needed, leaving only what's true. and still there are weeds that slip through the cracks, and no amount of chemical warfare will kill them. though there don't seem to be so many of those when i'm feeling less than my full fucking self. which is some kind of cruel joke. it has to be. ugly as they often are, every one of those wild and uncultivated moments came from me. so let them live as long as their stubbornness will allow. and let the neighbours bitch all they want about what an eyesore they are. they're my mistakes to make. 221126 what's it to you? who go blather from