[3am, post bomb­ing] — So this is how it trick­les down to us … bylines and side­bars, night-lenses and count­downs … I could be a mousepad tar­get, for all I know … we whit­tle our­selves down to kin­dling, to co-op a phrase … some­one else should take over … the reigns are heavy, my arms are begin­ning to quiver, and my elbows ache … hold­ing up a small hope, encumbered .…

A jaw­ful of mouth­wash … beloved, it is good. Some­thing closer … may you and I and all of us face the mir­ror with dig­nity, may we pro­nounce our names with a sim­ple clar­ity that bespeaks our perspicacity …

… and fuck­ing A, can any­one hook me up with any Liq­uid Liquid?