Call to Irrelevance
The opening statement is read into the room, then immediately disqualified by its own elegance. Around it, chalk rings ask whether certainty was ever invited.
A suspended argument chamber for propositions that arrive overdressed, contradict themselves politely, and leave as chalk.
The opening statement is read into the room, then immediately disqualified by its own elegance. Around it, chalk rings ask whether certainty was ever invited.
A wheeled lectern glides to the center rail, carrying a proposition too shy to become law. Its footnotes keep changing seats.
A violet beam interrupts the chamber. Punctuation falls from the rafters, each mark insisting it was misquoted by the previous sentence.
In the margins, tiny spectators hold blank cards. Their silence gathers like pale blue dust, more persuasive than testimony.
The witness refuses solidity. Questions pass through it, return damp, and sign themselves with a smudge of brass-colored light.
The tribunal rotates one last time and discovers the verdict has evaporated. The point remains in question, which is to say: perfectly placed.