the bastard's chain of revolutionary exile
with out a mating link there can be no chain. my chain has few links, but for those who are drug into the tug of chaos it is endearing to think i could have support. lest the weak should break there will be a link to support me. one that is as brittle and rusty as i, but still holding the banister that crosses unforgiven from retribution. i should hope to never see the end of the lateral bow which binds me to my rusted rail of indignity. knowing the steel's structure when forming a chain is important. it doesn't have to appealing to the eye although they sometimes are. beaten and cracked links are often to surprise the newly formed. cause to be in a damaged state you know they have held their own in a older time. pushing the older a used elements away is what sets the fabricated standards in which we live to reject. i can only be what i feel i am. to some they may never see it cause they only want the answers for their own satisfaction. to want to help is futile, to help without want is subjectively pleasing to the senses which were once lost in a terrible break in the history of the formation. to retract in to a psuedo state of security is aimless and wreckless, to indulge oneself in the propaganda exploited by the more surplus chains is also a failure in my eyes. to be a single piece of brazed metal to the ground is often asked for but there are rules and they must be followed through the promises made. my arch-angel will be a constant reminder if that. that one is for my future as it should be for thiers. cast in the name of heresy and failure i bring myself to my knees and cry for forgiveness from the makers of the chain. for they can be cruel and without remorse. as i remain as rigid as i can my stature weakens with the hollow tubing in which i was bent.