Ein feste Burg

It was a sort of like a callback to the whims and megrims of detritus past, like mud clinging to a wheel, regardless of whether or not the setting of this utterly preposterous ill timings happen here, there, or elsewhere. There is no such thing as a safe space. The safe spaces are merely a conjuration of the all too common mental impediment that plagues that one such fool who preys on other such fools. These all lack the common properties of a heimat, of which most people are in limbo of [represented by "the mud that clings to the wheels" conundrum. Even if one wanted to, it is hardly at fault to find this spirituality deviate from its typical norms. Perhaps the greater attribute one can bestow herein is that the ecumenical buff, once triggered, will initiate a path of self-righteousness looking forward and never back. One of the more menial things one wishes to have seen happen. If only God was as merciful as we are lacking.