unsure raze you don't really want to spend eighty or ninety dollars on just two books after getting dinged for shipping and taxes, but you feel the tug of words unread, and the part of your brain that craves joy no matter the consequences tells you it's only paper. paper to pay for the paper you need. that's how deep it goes. maybe we're all just ink on wood that's wandered too far from home and lost its shape in the wayward pursuit of wonder. your dust jacket might be long gone, and your pages might be jaundiced and torn, but all the stories that have helped make you are still right there, asleep between twin layers of pasteboard wrapped in buckram. 230715 what's it to you? who go blather from