The ice under our feet. It's something we should all be grateful for, this thin veneer separating our routine protocols of adherence, compliance and procedure from that heterogeneous mass lurking silently beneath. What lies in wait off-picture is a shadow stalking our everyday workaday lives, lives bound to honour the strict social contract, grinding out a dismal wage among our neutered, battery farmed brethren. A teeming, violent, feral chaos of base urges invoking all manner of profanity, screaming a primal language that comes from somewhere just beyond our scripted replies. What is betrayed by these two lustrous orbs, whose reflections seem to show us the merest glimpse of a deadening routine that is their prison? Only a desolate blackness whose inscrutability defies any seeker of truth. An infernal glimmer, a speck of inverted light, and we know full well that won’t be enough.
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