“A horror so deep only ritual can contain it.” — Sarah Kane, “Crave”
All that exuberant, collective hope of a new year dissipated
into silhouettes whose interiors frame a groomed rage.
Glamour is visceral. We are surviving a knowledge apocalypse.
Yes, it really has always been like this:
raw, broken, cruel, and transferred.
How we participate is framed as birthright.
My inherited rage was also learned.
Daily lessons worn so deep to appear smooth,
ordinary. Today, algorithms reveal their shadows.
Such process generates the futures we believe we can change.
In all this fractured isolation, soft bodies spread
sparse. Revolution’s ephemera weighted to never let us go.