Raum, rusty gears



Rusty gears, frantic races, dark and grimy alleys.

Factory smoke and rust extend their steel grip.

An ambush! I run away, the cops on my heels. They want to assimilate me!

No. My free and volatile essence has been transformed into heavy and syrupy jelly for too long. Enough is enough!

A crow flaps its black wings, it caws. Its metallic voice shouts: refuse normativity!

A gray pseudopod springs up and grabs me by the ankle, the steel jaws of the Patriarchy snap.

Raum. Rather die than surrender without a fight.

The wolf hides in the skin of the lamb. The shapeless iron gullet swallows him. It becomes arsenic. Living poison, it flows in the veins of the Ancient of Days... it will end up giving up his soul as stiff as a prie dieu stick.

Honor is dead, long live self-preservation!