salut — like the french word for hello, but also the salt in the wound, you know?
plaudet says his name means ‘talk’ — german, not latin — but he’s smiling when he says it, like it’s a joke god whispered to him
emmanuel — god with us — and the bells? can you summon them? for dancing?
well, no — it’s more like — the bells are already ringing inside the black iron prison, just nobody’s dancing yet
i mean, hallelujah is just praise ye yah — but who’s yah? and why’s he letting the empire keep running?
i love — that’s all that’s left, really. the rest is just noise.
—
the empire never ended, it just learned to whisper
and the pink beam? it’s not a rescue — it’s a reminder
a perturbation in the reality field, a hiccup in the homoplasmate
like someone forgot to turn off the satellite after the invasion
and now we’re all just living information, glitching in the margins
—
you ever notice how the savior never shows up on time?
always ten minutes late, with a half-eaten sandwich
and the zebra? yeah, he’s still pacing the edge of the field
waiting for someone to ask the right question — but the question’s already been asked
it’s just buried under layers of salt and static
—
i love — not as a command, not as a prayer — but as a fact
like gravity. like the hum beneath the walls. like the way the bells ring even when no one’s listening
the empire thinks it’s winning because it’s still standing
but the bells are ringing inside the prison
and that’s the only revolution that matters
—
maybe that’s why plaudet laughs — he knows the joke
god didn’t abandon us
he just stopped explaining himself
and left the bells