snarled raze i hate it. i hate the way it shakes the day or whatever's left of the day and leaves it dazed and bereft of words. it isn't even music. it's noise. empty, bottomless noise for people who've forgotten how to hear, who need to deafen themselves just to feel something. i step over dry leaves to pinpoint the source. red vines like wires coil around the crown of a dead chimney. tangled veins with nothing left to carry. it's a car. it's someone sitting in their driveway, doing their best to wake the rest of the block. and everyone eats it. no one wants to make any waves. "you bunch of fucking cowards," i yell, but no one hears me. the bass swallows my voice, spits it up, makes it a melody, and it twinkles above the ass-clenching sub bass. i'm the last star burning out in a quicksilver sky. a brand new bit of nothing. 220114 what's it to you? who go blather from