salty raze i knew it was him before i heard his voice. his sonic signature is as soulless and derivative as the pablum that dribbles out of his mouth. i thought of all the times he ignored me in public places after praising me behind my back. all the unanswered smiles and waves. all the albums he didn't get to have because the only cds his wife allows in the house are her own. the last time i saw him, he was with her at the mall. they didn't hold hands. they didn't even speak. if i didn't know better, i would have pegged them for strangers who stumbled into just enough accidental intimacy to pass for something more. chris isaak wailed to ward off love, and our paths intersected. they both looked away. her with a condescending smirk. him with about as much shame as i've ever seen colour the face of another human being. "my heart is bursting," he sang to me this morning. over and over again. as if he thought the repetition might infuse his truncated libretto with some semblance of substance. i held a plank, stared at the radio, and said, "it's too bad the rest of you doesn't fucking blow up too." 220905 what's it to you? who go blather from