wig raze secondhand synthetic tresses have made blond what was always brown, and now i'm sure the whole shape of my face has shifted like wet clay in the hands of a man with more than meddling in mind. is it god who makes these things when he isn't busy abandoning us to the worst our narrowing worlds have to offer, or do we saddle ourselves with so many useless tools we forget we designed them with our own wits and wasted wishes? i'll burn the mane that isn't mine and ride this retreating rug until it's as ragged as the rest of me. 250929 what's it to you? who go blather from