T h i s    T r a i n  travels more in sorrow than in Danger
              What about the shattered throngs, the mute lashings, enveloped violence that encases fear? Found away from ground zero before it was leveled, then after when buildings stood and fire-balls glorified, a hexed rumor castrated into mirrored fires; Big Father, Little Son.
              Pop-corned spacklings of disaster caught in flux, while sounds inside are warped into the picture; sunken screams, gasps, particle explosions never heard in enormous heat that turns away sound, imploding before they can unify within the matter. There were pixels I could not verify, the explanation spoke only of itself, turned on its side, playing the message backward. Where would be the pantomime of the obvious? Flesh colored, magnified x 1600, away from the captured nexus photoflex relay, broken rules of time, already traveled out of the scene into the very essence of mass murder, destruction of the highest scale.
              There formulated in what was not seen, in the very smallest of heavy particles, a package expedited, levied into the air.
              There is not a devil in the picture, there is one, signifying all. Ghastly terrified of an image in the mirror, deep grief, a gasp in grotesque awareness, the graduation-cap looms over a lighted fright, gathered instantaneously and faced off with pure ignorant human evil. This will not rest.
              The sounds matter, torsos bent as tuning forks torqued into decoded particles, minute scraps from the press, unseen to the naked eye, heavier than air, granted passage within, introducing a new formula, preceding fear, illuminating and exemplifying result, in a presence otherwise unaccounted for.
              This must be acknowledged and dealt with by speech. These are building blocks, escapees, squared pixels, dominant signifiers, loose radicals of equations that have graduated into form, away from and not from within. It is triadic maximum oppressing, seeking closure to empty itself in exchange. Injustice bartered for-against, the real on trial, looming from within the unspoken.
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