Wrath & Reverb—Volume Up / Systems Down:
Street Spirit(Fade Out) by Radiohead
I don’t know if this was ever worth doing.
Not just the site.
The whole trying thing.
Every word I write, I wonder who I’m echoing.
Every image I post, I know it came from someone else’s hand.
Even when I shape it—change it—make it feel like mine…
It’s still born from the pile.
From the machine.
From the scrape.
They’ve built it this way.
So that anything we touch stains us.
So that to speak, to share, to shape anything—
you have to get your hands dirty.
There is no clean act left.
No pure voice.
No untouched page.
Just lesser forms of guilt.
They say this is a new world.
But I don’t want a world where expression is theft by default.
Where to exist—to create—is to wonder
what I’ve taken and what I’ve become by doing it.
Maybe it’s all futile.
Maybe that’s the point.
Maybe futility is the only honest thing left.
Still.
Here I am.
Hands soiled.
Hating it.
Naming it.
And maybe—just for now—that’s enough.