pocketed raze bill was different degrees of shitfaced every time our paths crossed. he wasn't a mean drunk, or a sloppy drunk, or even an introspective drunk. he was a funny drunk, given to moments of unbridled brilliance. once, when he was about as sober as i ever saw him, he asked me if i'd seen the music video for "frontier psychiatrist" by the avalanches. a cavalcade of horses, parrots, flip wilson, and "sesame_street" samples all mashed together and made into something striking and strange. i told him i knew what he. his whole face lit up. he said his one wish in life was to carry that video around in his pocket so he could pull it out and show it to everyone he met. imagine being able to beam a piece of art straight into someone else's brain. the trouble is i could never limit myself to a single song, picture, painting, or poem in that scenario. even with all the ugliness in this world, there are too many beautiful things for one pouch sewn into a pair of pants to bear. 260714 what's it to you? who go blather from