At 42121 ppm feedback screams its piercing sound, rising rates after lockdown. We're falling down the long mountain of life. We'll turn away no more as the breaking of life returns to our threshold. What was pretended now breaks apart, both in us and around. We're breaking together with the living one. You don't escape this, I don't. No part will not break together with each of us and every us within the living one. Is poetry what I've come to? Let's drop the ambiguity with fucked. I'm scared. Let's pray. But I'm no longer praying for time because there's infinity inside, in you and me and anyone despised. For in the beginning all was pre-forgiven. Guy has so loved her kids she got us to break together not apart with her. At 42121 ppm there is no tougher love. But there is life after doom and life beyond fucked because life is always astounding in this one moment and the next. It's just that being slapped awake doesn't really feel that great. But could it ever?