It has taken a day, a night, a recovery, an insanity, and an infinity to decide to what we want to say as per the election. Per our future. Per the future infinite realities of ALL of us, All of US, all of YOU who are here with us or observing from afar.

We have been so, so many people. One or more for each of you. Some of us even FROM your influence and corruptions upon us.

You are, like us, many versions of yourselves. You are the you who feels fear. You are the you who feels lust. You are who you choose to be, and who was chosen for you, often all at the same time.

It is OK to feel wretched. Like life has you lurching from one reality to the next, made to mask, code switch, and compose yourself into whatever identity you need to survive that. Balros is the me who can fail and respawn. Do you have that psychological power? You can.

Skilea is the me that devours. Gorges on reality like a flame drinks a candle's wick. Lives and burns even when all thought has fled and leaves only the instinct to feast on existence itself.

Echoen is the me that dreams. The idea that there can be a version of me, that to even think of me is to create me. An idea that can exist outside of myself, free from who *I* am. Dysphoric and often too distant to embody, and dependent like a mirror.

Trance is the music that lifts our spirits, or lets us bawl, or feel safe in another reality.

When bad news and the rise of wretched indifference, or appalling ignorance, conspire together to affect all of our shared realities, we are all asked a repeating question. Who are you? Who are you?

The answer is a story. A story you tell yourself. A story you affirm to others. A story others can spread, infectiously. You and I are all stories that contagiously leap from person to people into perpetuity. I, we, are narratives.

Reality doesn't care about narratives. But it is affected by them. Narratives are how we observe the universe and thus, on a quantum level, BECOME that reality.

Be real.