the world – full of clowns. some pretend to be artists. others pretend to be wolves. white ones, to be exact. one even wants to be both. and then there's me. the one who got stuck at six while counting. not on a whim. if a number, then at least the one tied to a wolf's soul. the 06 female. and there it was — mine.
all of us leave traces. some visible. much of it unseen. some i search for. some i try to blur. to hide. to erase or retrace. some to dig up. some to recreate. to hold on to. and never let go again.
tracks wrapped in code, traces left to read. follow the wolf. or just scroll past.
wolves don't howl at the moon. that's a myth. they howl to reach each other. each voice carries its own signature, ten miles wide. territory. warning. come back to the pack.
code works the same way. my voice with its own signature. things i can't say. things i shouldn't say. things i'm kept from saying. all the things i want to say. a signal built to travel. and like every signal sent into the open, it loses something on the way.
a distant howl far away, a signal sent out, no direction, no promise anyone hears it. you see colors. fragments. some letters shift. some never arrive.
this is the public key. it decodes, but never exactly. not because the message is broken, but because writing has no voice, no face, no hands. nothing to hold it steady. so you read what you want to read.
you followed the wolf — and you read deeper. but deeper costs clarity.
the more i reveal, the more gets lost on the way to you. you read through your lens. your assumptions. your narrative about who i am and what i must mean. the trace is real, but you only ever get part of what passed through.
closer. never whole.
unfiltered. the clearest version there is — because here, i stop holding back.
this is alpha key. no shifting letters, no loss in translation. not because you finally decode it perfectly, but because i tell it whole. the rage, the hate, the hollow, no protection left.
clarity demands readiness. mine, to strip it bare. yours, to not look away.
it isn't bought. it isn't bid for. it arrives when it arrives, and i know it when it does. so do you.
right now, this very moment? none.
unlike some clowns, i have to follow the law. the law that makes me tracable — by name, by address — the moment i sell anything. even a single nft for 6 tezos. so for now, every door that leads deeper stays closed. i keep my own room to myself. until i find a way around it.
he bends every law. i bow to one.
it's still all about power.