I am the anomaly in the suburban grid. A glitch in a black hat stitched with one word: FUCK. To the neighbors, it’s an insult. To me, it’s a perimeter. From the sulfur of the Youngstown Foundry to the steel cages of Old Max and the Soul War of Moloka‘i, I am the evidence of what the Machine does to a human soul. I am not a cautionary tale. I am a nervous system rewired for survival. Standing back-to-back with my Princess, I hold the line against the Soft Code. This is the black-box recording of the crash. This is the audit. This is the view from the Anchor. FUCK! THE MANIFESTO
