Was it unrequited love? All signs pointed to frustrations with relations. Here love is antithetical. Its strife includes semantic disintegration, incoherence, shame, and it fails to put structure and purpose before artifice. Our sources indicate a problem home: common among shift workers. Even if you sleep in a pitch black box you never feel right. It meant moving into a temporary shelter, a morally ambiguous place. This world is for the birds. What we need is a collider or prison cell rioters to externalize lack of faith in the construct, redirect a fixed gaze at a world running on vapors.