pitchfork raze it grew from one of those things you do without thinking when you're angry enough to throw what you really feel at the world without caring who the snowball hits. you gave a middling review to an album everyone else loved, and i saw something of myself in those well-weighted words. i didn't know you'd want to hear the music i made out of bitterness, fear, and love that kept hurling itself at a moving target. "you have drunk fans in virginia," you told me, while listening to a sonic symposium i didn't think was much of anything at all. you said you'd write about something i was proud of someday. and i let myself dream for a while. but nothing ever came of it. the words that mean the most to me don't live inside of songs anymore anyway. they're all right here. 230313 what's it to you? who go blather from