un Hin-ged

This is the rant. Millions beyond Orford have captured a space. Oto Ja. I wave to the neighbors if I see them, I speak to them if proximity condemns us to conversation. Digital communities replace geographic ones, neighbors become virtual, and we develop a discomfort, disdain, and resentment for the people next door.

In my study cubby in Utah I pulled ribs and dust together to form a body of belief I could stand in. I called it Hin, my own reconstruction-- a patchwork of concept and core beliefs stripped stolen earned imprinted borrowed and born from my exposures in life. An escapist faith, maybe, it is my wrestle with the manipulations of man with Meaning. Hin is my way to reconstruct in collage the scripts and commandments owned by the violents and peaceMakers who declare that with divine investiture they own the answers, the right to obey and how to enact them. Every generation tangles with their Arbiters of Access, them who eclipse self-restraint by seizing self-empowerment.
To the loas who may read this, feed yourselves here and elsewhere and lead the critics to greener terrain.
This is my space, published out and across into your space, to rid it from chest.