The artistic imperialism of the insecure, deafening our ears with their screams for attention. What if the boys who cried wolf, we're the wolves themselves. What's in the box? Their insecure fears? They look in a mirror, but all they see are windows. The sounds of a projector, tired and useless, begins to rol(e). LIGHTS. CAMERA. ACTION.

Never let anyone dictate your art. No matter how you share it.