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No catharsis.
Let us now employ the Holistotron. Steel yourselves, humans.
Ids and superegos and fragile here and nows mediating between wound and aspiration. When are you outside, when are you inside? When is when, where is where? Humans with limited scope, short-sighted and myopic, probably for the best. The psychoarchitecture we surround ourselves with remembers everything but never tells anything but lies. Common houses we use and abuse and we expect them to extend the courtesy of privacy but there is nothing a human makes that doesn't become a human too. A growing resentment for what a city in its bare essence is, it shows in everything we do in these large grey buildings. We are not meant to stack, there is a hybris there, we are meant to stay to ground lest some think they are above some others. The existential 'penthouse suite' never amounted to anything more than to a scope of further, richer, cubically expounded despair.
And from broken, armless crosses, locusts.
-Helm
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