the illusion of individual voice. addicted to the paradox of choice. complacent in the greed divide. grind grind grind, slave to the blind
"It was a sick twist of her nature that brought her to the noise. An indictment of our species, it took little effort to arrange a proxy. Regardless of the veneer, some doors are rotten to the core. She is the four." -the phlegmatic siren
"No matter what strength to bear we may possess, exhaustion is a brute force, and it is not afraid to push you through the wrong door. She is the four" - the choleric siren
A number, a noise, or the occasional spark of humanity linking us to our brothers and sisters in solidarity or torture, whether overt or complacent...Some doors you open, some are slammed in your face, others you are pushed through. Which do you choose? Welcome to the four.