No wanting more space without wanting more time. Nothing is forbidden, but there is
nothing left to win so the treasures become fragments and fate takes a new title and
becomes an awkward mercenary with promiscuous expectations, taking insubordinate
lives as a pastime as if it had already granted enough wishes. Beware of the old virtues in
a world finally past the idea of nations but not war. A wild dog is attacking a mule for
something more than nourishment, hell-bent on removing the tattoo of the mechanical
before he disappears into obligation or plaything. It’s a farce of definitions at this point
with no way to distinguish the broken and sick from the authority of barren certitudes.
Let loss only be painful once.  No duel with witness or its resentments—only the careless
need more power as light fumbles in the dark.