[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?
