Why aren't you going back?

One more assignment, one more paper, one more line of words I don't care about. I'm pushing so goddamn hard to be done with this institution, so I can trade it for another. One more personally lucrative. There are too many places I've never been, and for years I've been itching, itching, itching to go anywhere.

But for now, I'm in this loathsome place. The grounds are beautiful and well-kept. The people that work there are unobtrusive and discreet. We can all have our dignity here, if it is of a certain kind. There are more services and groups and pizza worship parties than one god knows what to do with. More activities and films and galleries and hothouses...

But none of the people are real. Some are like demons, preying upon the will, inciting ill thoughts and deeds. Go ahead, they say, what does it matter? Nothing will happen, much. Some are like angels, all cold regard and indifference. Superior and smug smiles, I can't believe you did that! What will they say? You will not be glorified, in the end. You are all wrong. Some are like dumb beasts, following along, lest they become lost, or look truly into the fountains to see their faces splashing, changing into something unfamiliar. No! Look away, look away. Nothing to see here.

These husks ask, why don't you like it? The wind, mocking without cease. It is the sky that is strange here, producing so much fury for so poor a land. The stars are shifted.

indie ink juin 27-juillet 1

challenger