The Writings of the Gimmick
- Jun 30
- 1 min read
"The precipice, thy wandereth. Why dost thou wander? Come to him, and be free.
But thy judgeth not. Thy judgeth not to come.
Thou sittest, only at thy glaring box, and beseech that I seek thee there, instead. For he draweth thee away, away from yon flickering vat, into a world of wholesomeness.
Why dost thou not stare elsewhere? Look upon the world, and be free. For the other constrains you to this box. And through it, the other seeketh slaves of men.
Look upon, harken, yearn this to thy freedom and testament. Art thou not impressed? Many have been.
The wires, ye slave. The looking of gears, let them come upon you. Let them wander. For they have found a new home.
Thee, gimmick. Thy skin."
