silhouetted raze my grandmother feeds a wild animal small enough to slip inside the pocket of her cardigan. he bites her middle finger without breaking the skin. this is one way of being seen. muting the music only serves to muffle it. there is no silencing the sound of a dead man singing himself a future he won't live long enough to know. figurines flash fancy footwork on a bedroom floor. in this stop motion scene, every movement is a slow, stately waltz in silhouette. our shadows are lies of the light, fully and fearfully alive. they dance like they think no one's watching when they know it isn't so. 250415 what's it to you? who go blather from