left_of_the_dial raze he wouldn't remember this, but i used to come home on friday nights after drinking at the_loop and call him when he was on the air at four in the morning. i don't think i ever knew the name of the show he hosted. i don't remember listening to it. i would call him just to talk. he would cue up a long block of music, and we would parry until the sun threatened to burn a hole through the darkness i loved so well. most people shut down when i let myself be as playful as i wanted to be. they thought i was weird. he didn't. he gave it right back to me. one night he wasn't around on msn, so i wrote, "i am inside of your nucleus, which is a roundabout way of saying, 'it is not like any intimacy you have ever thrusted within, though it may attempt to be so.' there are other methods of habitual hair loss. for example: there is a picture of a dog in lena's profile. she deems me an idiot. this sets off a chain of command that can only be referred to as rguam, which stands for 'ready get under ass motherfucker'. the new government of a purple culture. an orderly structure. just as typing to someone who is away is as tepid as a seagull's left testicle, so it is written in the book of ventriculus that 'no man shall fornicate with his partner. sex is for the devils. eye contact is all the erotic shit you need. stare, fucker!' and what a book it be. your absence is making me type shit i wouldn't normally type, and my chin doth tremble with mutant desire. i must now break for food." i ate some ritz bits or some potato chips or something. then i came back and wrote him a three-act play. i was drunk, but not so drunk that i couldn't contrive a way to say "sell yourself quickly" in german before google translate was around to help me out. it was the same thing when we talked on the phone. his voice was nothing like the words he threw up on my computer screen. it was weightless. musical. agile. my voice was blurred, and my words were loose and soft around the edges, but they never left me. not even when i wanted them to. 220106 what's it to you? who go blather from