feathered raze after your mother staggers down carpet-covered stairs clutching a bottle of eighty proof liquid death and a handshake becomes an awkward hug, you step into a house bulging with books and search for something that speaks to you. there's a pristine paperback all about birds. beautiful black_and_white illustrations to break up the text. it only costs a dollar. there's a table teeming with copies of a time travel-themed tale you would force all your friends to read if you could. the cover redesign is all wrong. it should be red and pink and white. not purple. there are a few fat vonnegut novels near the door. if you look long enough you just might find almost everything you've ever wanted to read. it's the birds you keep coming back to. you need to know the name of every impossible emissary and aeronaut. to taste that treasure and let it seep so deep into you, no loss of cognitive function will unfasten it from the maw of your mind. 250612 what's it to you? who go blather from