lossy raze i am a copy of a copy of myself, the finer details lost to some reverse osmosis, cymbals swimming through a thick layer of sonic gauze, dynamic range constricted. the harder i hit, the smaller i get. it hurts to hear myself this way. i'll choke down the pulp, the only part of me that still matters, lips stained with the sweat of some new affliction, and we'll dance until our legs have left us and all we can do is ghost ourselves into comeliness. no shades of grey. only everything and nothing. and i have so much more to give. 220109 what's it to you? who go blather from