the_strangest_smoke raze the stage is bare but for these two men and the tools of their trade. one nails the name of another into weathered wood to watch it warp. soon the only sound is xylem sighing as it splits down the middle. red rings rise from the dented device that makes this music possible. the strangest smoke, without a scent to call its own. i turn my back to the spartan band and stare at a ceiling that's gone green. in a voice not my own, i sing: "the sky is full of stars showing us what we can't have. there's a quiet life that wants to be wanted. someone got up and left what they thought they needed on the ground." isn't that the way it always goes? 251224 what's it to you? who go blather from