Judgements are applications to be admitted to the bureaucracy of the wise, but in this land, your path must never alter after the one crucial fork, a spoon unalterably stirring the honeyed knives in your cup, prepared to glance off of you all the way down, a developmental strategy that will cause most to remain in place, while those most similar to the treetops will become treetops them-cells, waving delighted in the the winds of organ -ization, mechan-ically unable to see the stasis in their assumptions of the freedom not given freely as a gift, but rather as a bloody guilt for all that came before, a bloody crown worn by the bloodless, without account for another type of future, the top of a game that makes each of its players into a stoppage for the remainder of their deathless lives.