The Procedural Fucking Dance
I spent hours watching people move through a courthouse where the enormous power of the state had somehow become routine. Dates were scheduled. Names were called. People were told when to come back. Everyone played their part. But somewhere underneath all that fucking procedure, I kept wondering what happened to justice.
The Fucking Cage
A car gets you from one place to another. A motorcycle puts you inside every fucking mile between them. The temperature, the wind, the smells, the landscape. You don't pass through the world. You enter it. Unfortunately, sometimes love and logistics mean climbing into the fucking cage anyway.