tapes raze my diaries are not words on a page but sounds on tapes, some with information scrawled on the coats that hold them, some mysteries waiting to be unlocked by eyes and ears older and younger than before. all the fumbling and finding and fumbling again, all the love a timid song would let itself hold, all the blind epiphanies and one-way streets. everything is there. it's just a little dusty. 161201 what's it to you? who go blather from