Category Crow’s Nest

Up here, the shouting fades. Below, the deckhands brawl over semantics and empty barrels. But from the rigging, the shape of things comes into focus — slow collapse, fast delusion, and the absurd elegance of it all.

This is where I map the mess from altitude. Big arcs. Broken patterns. Unwelcome truths seen before impact. No rah-rah optimism, no collapse-porn doomerism. Just the sharp wind, a good scope, and the knowledge that sometimes the best you can do is spot the rocks early and yell loud enough for someone below to hear.