this rube goldberg contraption concludes with the death of the king.
the thing about the swarm is that it resists the individual like a drunk driver resists yellow lines at night. you belong without being. you become a component of something greater, a statistic & a billboard on the side of the road saying eighteen (18) year old julie was killed on the way to pick up her date for the sadie hawkins dance by her father coming home from a three martini lunch. you become one of chuck palahnuik's haikus, your divider line yellow & asphalt black abdomen quivering.
the thing about the livejournal is it reflects only what i'm thinking, not what i am.