Blame requires a resting place. Far away from where our blameless lives play out. We fuss around allocating it a town, a home, a bed in which it can settle. Nobody likes to see blame aimlessly wandering, peering around corners and through windows into our lives. We don't want it brushing against us as it drifts by. We prefer it to be still. Silent and inert so we can measure our own distance from it and how close others are to where it collapses. Then we're able to give it a wide berth. Blame, we say, belongs somewhere else.
Welcome. Anonymous Author holds a mirror to the face of humanity, asking what it really means to be human,
and in doing so blurs the line between what is good and bad writing.
