Masquerade of the Dearly Missed
She stops at theWorkstation to mark a new redeemer on the white-noise ticket, one sent from beyond the old [global unified ticker tape embedded recursive="gutter"]. Is it a single psychological repercussion for simply being too familiar? (yes, to lie, to hold a secret, fulfills the new algorithm to great importance)
The latest rise of censorship, it seems, has evoked another chorus, this time unifying the humiliated and the humble (for the ancients, a choral chant to the gods was always done by all pagans, right?).
The smaller, more private enterprises, [world indie nomad culture-endure="wince"], still sense the selective forces of theNature (and yes, gravity is still undefined).
Does full-fledged storytelling of the dearly missed masquerade as deadly cosmic homeostasis of witless witnesses, fresh in from the wilderness, crowding and cowing to personal, karmic travails of their own choosing?
The others wallow (such as, the surfers-of-mystery ministries, along with minstrels of misery, both show up on her screen in a miniseries, appearing to suffer the most from focused, innocent ignorance) in the healing powers of grand simplicity.
They somehow find refuge at the altar of orchestras, or better, become panels of judges simply placing new urges onto old dirges. Really?
And so. Being humiliated clings to its artifact as a once-in-a-lifetime trophy--active decisions to never be humble.
She checks the other monitors and then, she leaves.