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May 18, 2020
Weathering the sweat, worrying about its worthiness, the need to sweat this way, caged in an idea, ripped away from the snarl of workaday Kells on a trajectory toward who knows where or why. Is it who or what that guides this flood of new days on portents of death? Are we gathered together by a swarm of humans or bots with eyes without feeling? Come what come may the map has changed, will continue to change. The value of being here is suddenly reduced under the scrutiny we cannot see. They see us. That's the point. They crave control.