We are not born to stake a claim, but to claim a stake in each other, to burn alive if needed in the pure resurrection of our simultaneous decay. We tell ourselves they had a choice, that we have a choice, but some choices are rolling blackouts, some choices are two frayed ends of wire arcing reddest electricities between raw, uncoiling fingers, some choices are piling sandbags with your neighbors as the floodwaters rise, some choices are not really choices at all.