Wear that line of sausages like a backpack! Your limitations are the mass of eucharistic byproducts; the cup runneth sober when wine's grape juice refuses to ferment. Links make a bandolier whose killing is long over, ground up, and cased, a robbery whose complicity the hungry may not afford to consider. Both sides' isms strive to make war on the one so as to become the other. Transformation is the art of rivering as flood make maps fools and rewrite topography's history. Connect back to beginnings; mirages are oases from the torpor and torture that reality will often require.