Words and meaning are held up at the gate, something I had felt I needed to say suppressed, no longer forming on the tongue, maybe even faded from the realm of memory; but so much that didn't make it to broadcast, not everything important; too much of it obvious; but nevertheless things that aren't allowed to be expressed. Everything over budget, out of time.

A bit of poetic prose while we're lost in the American Dream of the patently unreal, swimming around in a post-system cesspool, drowning from our voices down and inward, looking for the exits in this crumbling mirror-maze, reflecting on life under twisted conditions, in the awkward process of an ugly reset that nonetheless would smooth out against their grain. We didn't have to be defeated; their ways weren't compatible with our philosophies, even that which had already reached the threshold of perceptive existence. We didn't have much, but we had sharpened our discernment; wisdom has accumulated against their claptrap and balderdash, too much to ever root out.