recurring raze i think i dream of squirrels every night now. i almost never see the ones i love anymore. familiar-feeling strangers with black and grey coats. that's what i get. at best, there'll sometimes be a stand-in. a glorified stunt double who reminds me of someone i know without quite being them. nothing much happens. i feed them or i don't. what sticks with me is their faces. they always look resigned. as if they've seen the future and it failed to please them. if i knew what came next, would i wear that same mask? 221210 what's it to you? who go blather from