lost_tapes raze this is what i remember. you seated at my desktop computer. the chassis still new enough to seem immortal. camera sweeping up carpet-covered stairs in an improvised handheld crane shot. clean chorused electric guitar guiding an instrumental passage on the soundtrack. the sidewalk surrounding the park. me and you and one of your exes. baggy long-sleeve butterscotch tee. hair i'd kill to have again spilling out of a too-loose ponytail. the same glasses i'm wearing now. getting high for the first time. dancing and laughing in the middle of your street at night. a stray cat i named after a part of my body i was sure no hand but mine would ever touch. running home so i could run away from who i thought i was born to be. the first four songs from the second album of our last life. the white henley shirt i still wear, thinned by time into something more mine than the younger cloth could claim to be. a countermelody i couldn't shake after dreaming it with my eyes open. five notes played on a harpsichord. stoned skits. a fashion show. a superhero whose sole purpose was to repair illicit cigarettes in need of saving. sober words that scorched the soul of a friend whose mind was already fried. a shot of us limping back to the house, weary and weathered by a night when all that was green felt like it was ours alone. screaming and spinning. tapping out urgent polyrhythms in the dark. so many small scenes of joy buried in the bottom drawer of a threadbare year. i'd give almost anything to get them back, but you recorded homemade porn over every minute without a second thought. 241112 what's it to you? who go blather from