figurine raze i thought he would have run out of gifts to give us by now. i was wrong. but something tells me this might be the last one. i almost think it has to be. after all the metal and plastic and wood — all the candlesticks and resonant chambers and expressive faces — it should end here, with this: a small ceramic sculpture of two white figures holding hands. shimmering neonatal faces touching. eyes cast down. feet lost to the milk their shared living has made. naked and frail, but unafraid. "this is perfect," i told him. "you have no idea how perfect this is." 220823 what's it to you? who go blather from