In everything there is a lining, not silver, but of steel. It frames ideas; dread things which are stronger when dead. They are our prison. Every day we toil, amidst this field of cable and we reap what our history sowed. Some live as testament to these shapes – only coloring within lines. Others spread the same ideas, trapping still more people under history’s whip. I would rend the gossamer dreams to shreds – to begin it all anew.

My silence is deafening. But the roar of despair in others is defeating. My most silent thoughts dictate the motion of my stars. I turn left – they flee to the right. I run forward and they stay in place. It’s only when I’m still that I can watch them dance. Have you stopped to stare? While my life is in constant isolation, my mind in constant journey; my existence is all my own. I’d have it no other way.