viewfinder raze my camera's touch screen is a liar. every perfect shot i line up is reborn as a blurred mess after the fact, with clumsy framing. the closer i move to my subject, the worse it gets. he rolls onto his back. gives up the softest part of himself for me to touch. when he wanders away i can't call him back. there are others here too. some look at me like we've met before. a wordless wail scares them into scattering. the sound that signifies defeat in my mother tongue is a warning in theirs. they don't fear me. they fear what they think i've seen. 241111 what's it to you? who go blather from