sometimes there's very little to say. what presents speaks too coherently to expand upon in any way that means anything of itself. the difference, here, is that it's especially hard to apply the now, where i am and where we are; even in its time, it only moved so closely for a select few. "he can't hear you. he never will." many never unfurl themselves in one place, never free themselves in another.

what does reveal to us is temporary—some close fantasy where all can be turned, that we can make careful steps towards something significant, in stride. an enrapt presentation of uncalculated, impersonal destruction is slowly proded, ceded for something formed in life-suffering and its consequences. that, it does without falter or misjudgment, and through which i value it most, what i try to see from it through that lens so close to my heart. it is astounding when so few things, upon themselves layered over and over, provide such unfettered hope for how all of this might work. 'objectivity', 'truth', whatever the misnomer is that's tripping over itself to tear ourselves apart, is what is put to trial.

these systems, syndicates, empires, are just never that coherent though. they refuse to maneuver in animalistic means, with regard to the otherings inherent of our sociality, for the non-self—instead one is swept up, and the tale fades as axes fall, concrete and wrought iron ache, ensnarled.

yet for a little while, in a cramped, suffocating chamber, you can believe it to be a step taken in earnest. that there can be fury enacted without destruction, opposite to it as lashed out in agony, catastrophically damaging and freeing. it weeps because it knows the former is no longer feasible without tearing yourself away. maybe it simply thinks both sorts are necessary, that injecting this emotion into heartless cogs is all that can be done inside these walls. you should try; thankfully, they don't even know your name here anyways.