There will be times, oh my child, when it all seems hopeless.When the trees all have QR codesand the bank boys and balrogsare holding all the cards.When your refrigerator tells you "THE IRANIAN PEOPLE YEARN FOR FREEDOM"and your electric shaver can smellif you've been reading Parenti.When you're on a first-name basiswith the police surveillance dronesand your colonoscopy screenin the exam roomis running ads for Northrop Grumman.And it is true,oh my child,it is true that the machine is mightyand that its armor is very thick.It is true that the bank boys have long fingersand they are putting marblesin our minds.The sky is red,and the moon has a FOR SALE sign,and parts of Palestiniansare turning up in our tap water.But oh my child, do not be daunted,and oh my child, do not despair.There are forces within usthe Flock cameras can't see.There are depths within usnot even the balrogs can reach.Beneath all the doomscroll addiction psychosis,beneath all the oceans of trauma and toil,a creature is stirringand opening its eyes,its eyes full of primordial déjà vu,its eyes full of Big Bang recursionsfull of eyeswatching eyeswatching eyeswatching eyes.It looks at you,and you meet its gaze.Everything goes still.You remember what you are.Oh my sweet, darling child,you see it now.You see that Thiscould never be contained._______________Reading by Tim Foley.