Bone

I love finding the rigid cores at the centers of things. The outer layers will squish and deform and give way, eventually sloughing off into the gutter, but there's always a hard, solid remnant left behind. That which will not bend, which refuses to break. Unfriendly, unaccommodating, unyielding. The flesh will make room, welcome you in, ensure you're comfortable. Bone stands its ground. It is that which does not move, gives shape for the flesh to contort around, defines the limits of its hospitality. So many want a world with less bone and more flesh. I say we need more bone. We're trapped in the swampy morass of our own decaying flesh and viscera, buried in it, suffocating. It crumbles, liquefies, but refuses to drain. We need to sever it, strip it away. Once it's excised, we can see the REAL shape of the land underneath. Only then will you truly know where you stand.