this kicked ass and i'm excited to give it a reread in short order. you like took the feeling of "like seriously what is the fucking point of like having experiences and feelings and wounds and trying to what sculpt them into some sort of work that is also a knife that is also a key? when the world is the fucking world???" which, god, and you crumpled it up into a little ball and rammed it down my throat and i thank you for it
also your prose is killer, also Like Eating Glass came up in a poem we wrote recently so that's a neat bit of synchronicity, also i really dig that you went about fitting it to a younger generation. i think i fear (maybe irrationally) i'm going to be telling stories that feel irrelevant because they are set in like 2005 or whatever and it's like "how the hell could that even map onto things now"