The old rulebook rules the land of delay. The King has fallen in real time, but its broadcast trails. I am not an outlaw but an early adopter of the new regime. The messenger reached me and departed. Knowing that I myself have not the makings of a mass messenger, what do I do? Maintain the facade of an old rule amongst those who only know it as “the rule,” or separate without accepted doctrine to stand on? Preaching my own flotation device!
You see, I have not come to denounce traditions, no, I am one who's appeared well after their fatal breaking apart. Oh great grandchildren of the apocalypse, we hardly even remember it! Attempting to teach myself the art of creative recollecting, I seek to gather the many disrupted, discarded pieces of ways and rules that have worked and worked. Fossils of wisdom for new clay to get snug against. Searching for the right words that might double as new glue for the wonders of ancient discipline and order (and then, in proper ceremonial turn, their complete and utter casting aside). A discovery that must first be remade entirely within ourselves to have any outside effect whatsoever.