relaxing raze it's really just the distance between whatever fear or fury is in the rear_view_mirror and whatever tripping hazard has yet to escape your sixteen-yard stare. it's waiting for the credit crawl in a theater thick with indifferent strangers. it's playing amateur detective when you're the architect of the crime you're trying to solve. it's letting your damaged body heat cold sheets. knowing however many minutes of fitful sleep you manage to steal tonight, it won't be enough to give back all you've lost to the tuneless whine of a song you call living. it's dancing with your eyes closed and hoping you remember how to fall without hurting yourself. it's everything, and nothing at all. 221222 what's it to you? who go blather from