glen_hansard raze we first met in the warmth of a borrowed room while your friends were busy busking on grafton street. it was christmas_eve. you cradled a classical guitar and sang: "in time this won't even matter. this chapter will be long on the grass. and we'll talk about everything 'til it's easier." i don't think you thought those words were true. everything matters. or almost_everything. and nothing you're saddled with sheds weight when it's spoken of. you just learn to carry it. but sometimes you say things you know aren't so when you need a hand to hold and there's nothing to grab onto but air. in all your songs you seemed to say, "here is the whole of my heart." few musicians have moved me to tears before they've even played a note. you were one. if the people who loved you have any sense, they'll bury you with your battered takamine. you wore a jagged hole through the soundboard and refused to patch it up. you wanted the world to know that damage isn't something to shroud or be shamed by. it's one of the most meaningful landmarks on the map that makes us who we are. 260729 what's it to you? who go blather from