The fearless whiteness, the jazzy impossibility of a true restart, low water snaking in the past, passive floodgates, soaping new the optimism with starkly grey contrast on the helper stage, shapevile, vast nothingness, impartial isolated thoughts, begging little pools of oil, innards of another world, slopingly seeking to ride a wave into the stormcenter stupidness of now. The way in was the way out.