transcribed raze someone else is talking their way into a dream that isn't theirs, telling a story they haven't lived through. every minute is a thousand words. a thousand words i need to harness and forge into permanence. a thousand ways to get it wrong. if i make a digital recording of what's on the tape, there's going to be too much background noise fighting with the voice i want to hear. so make it music. make it music without words. put a harmonica in my mouth. i'll bend the only note i can. the lowest note there is. i'll bend it on the way in. make it doubt itself. make every note the right one no matter where my mouth goes. this part of the song is just for him, but i don't want to let him have it. so give me a small black flute with silver on each end, with bulges and curves where none should be, and give me all of three notes to play with. make it sound like a recorder. make it the first thing any of us ever blew into. make it the clumsiest, most innocent melody anyone's ever heard. translate my breath into that. no. that's not right. the first things any of us blew into were ourselves, lighting up that slot machine, loud letters on a thin screen saying you win, you win the greatest prize there is, you win life, now take it, take it all, it's yours, go fill it up with everything. but i'm running out of time to get this all down. 210905 what's it to you? who go blather from