southern_rock raze i knew a drummer who, though amused by the light synchronicity without pacing, became paranoid and hunted wild animals — not to kill, but just to stay warm. he had a brown stepladder named carol. he bit my whispers. he dropped the nails. he said things no grown man should ever have to say by name. my structural group then threatened to leave him. (this sort of seems to coincide with his wanting to die.) it took him some time to get back here after he ate the road. from his knuckles sprouted the future in all its awful glory. 260802 what's it to you? who go blather from