# data[].attributes.body
I'm in a box with a mouse
And I can't get out
It's scratching the walls
I've called it Jeff
Jeff is small
So small that at first
I didn't notice he was there
I think the box is made of wood.

I tried the punch thing
From kill bill, turns out
It doesn't work, life
Isn't like the movies.
I wish it was, I want out.
Of this damn box.
When did I see him?
Oh I heard him first.

Scuffles and gnawing
Squeaks and gnawing
Scrapes and me yawning
Because you can't sleep
With that bloody racket.
It's getting harder to
Breathe
In this tiny little box.

Yes I'm confronted with
A hungry mouse. Good thing
I had crackers in my pocket,
Else Jeff would have
Bitten at my ankles. That's
What animals do.
Yes I'm confronted with
A mouse getting bigger

By the day, it's ceaseless.
Jeff is falling out of his fur
And creasing over his toes,
Teeth bigger than my feet
And the box is getting smaller
It seems. At least
That's how it feels.
That's how it feels in this box.

I arrived in this box, fresh
From a cage. A box should
be better than a cage but
That's a lie too, they're both
Means to an end.
Jeff has soft whiskers though.
I didn't expect that
From such a wild creature.

Jeff is a fighter, he's fighting
His growth, his own, his
Very existence
To stay in this box, to stay alive.
I'm happy.
I suppose in a box that's all
You can wish for.
I suppose in a box...

Woke up next to Jeff
Ate a cracker with Jeff
Looked away as he stretched
Ate a cracker with Jeff
I'm growing, I'm growing
Played keep-tail with Jeff
Ate a cracker with Jeff
Jeff, Jeff, Jeff

My funny little mouse
My tiny little
Box and mouse together
In a box with a mouse called
Jeff. Jeff-Box.
Ate a cracker growing growing
Creasing and crashing
Down into my box again

And I don't miss my cage
But I wouldn't miss this box
I would miss this box
This box would be missed and
My crackers with Jeff
I insist, have a cracker,
Won't you stay a while?
Look at my box. My lovely.

With Jeff, with Jeff
Both with gravestone teeth
Yard's my Box, my lovely
Little Box. Born with small
Eyes.
Won't you stay a little longer?
Look at my box.
Look at my box.

Box.
Mouse.
Lovely.

Won't you
Look at my box
My gravestone
My mouse
Growing bigger
Breathe
I suppose that's all you can wish for.

# data[].attributes.body
Radicalization (or radicalisation) is a process by which an individual, or group comes to adopt increasingly extreme political, social, or religious ideals and aspirations that reject or undermine the status quo[1] or undermine contemporary ideas and expressions of freedom of choice. The outcomes of radicalization are shaped by the ideas of the society at large; for example, radicalism can originate from a broad social consensus against progressive changes in society or from a broad desire for change in society. Radicalization can be both violent and nonviolent, although most academic literature focuses on radicalization into violent extremism (RVE).[2][3] There are multiple pathways that constitute the process of radicalization, which can be independent but are usually mutually reinforcing.[4][5]
Radicalization that occurs across multiple reinforcing pathways greatly increases a group’s resilience and lethality. Furthermore, by compromising its ability to blend in with non-radical society and participate in a modern, globalized economy, radicalization serves as a kind of sociological trap that gives individuals no other place to go to satisfy their material and spiritual needs.[6]

# data[].attributes.body
Documentary/Film about radicalisation....Book?

Influences: Guantanamo Bay, p.o.w camps in WW2 and Vietnam.

Thoughts....

can't assume all soldiers have a prejudice
can't assume all arabs are terrorists (clearly)
radicalisation is nearly always permanent
the people in Guantanamo are there for a reason, not just because they're from a terrorist ridden country
isis isn't a religion, even mosques deny them
how can we find peace, extend peace? we cant give them our hands because they will cut it off
their end goals are to kill us
they do not fear death
id like to believe that they are still human
I want to bring them back
I want to make them human again
how do I do that when they act so inhuman
their lack of mortality makes me want to risk mine
they have gotten what they want
through their actions I would risk my life to stop them, when it is nigh on impossible
what is the way?
how do I start peace?
how do I get inside their head?

# data[].attributes.body
I left her alone. She smiled. She knew I would be watching, so when the music hit its peak, her hips moved slow. I couldn’t help it and I watched. The men, the crew behind, the helpers all asked. Who is she? I did not know. And I still don’t. One man who could not resist approached the lioness when she was not looking, clasping her hands in his and pulling her back to me. A glimmer of recognition. A wave of arrogance. But I could not fall back. She had me.

# data[].attributes.body
So. We’ve arrived. Have a look around.
This patch of grass is like a cloud on an endless green plain, occasionally smattered by the bobbing heads of daisies and forget-me-nots. The air is clear and exulted by the sounds of buzzing bees. She is somewhere everyone passes, nobody thinks to look.
Except there’s something peculiar. The ground has swallowed her whole. The mound of mud above her I so carefully threw has now reduced to a flat table of grass. An inevitable occurrence; the Earth is a thief and we are her jewels. This is what happened to the others. Cold, dry air. I wonder if she is getting claustrophobic. I wonder if the roots of the plants above have wormed their way through her body in search of life. I wonder if they found it easy. I wonder if she’s dissipated amongst the dirt yet, giving herself back.
The cow parsley looks like skeletons at this time of year.
I wonder if they want to look more like her.
There’s another. She is so alive in my mind, but reality states she is ensconced within the deepest of blues. The lake was a good place for that one, I hope. The smell of the lilies and the pebbles drew me in.  I hope I kept her all in one piece- so fragile they become after a while. I just lose myself in the task, and it becomes enjoyment; the last one just fell through my hands like sand: wrenched down by law, but striking in its release. Ghastly. At least make it arduous for me. But this one, she was stronger and that’s what made it fun. She fought.
Females are so easy. No wonder they’re taken more often than us. All that is required is a look and a promise. Their soul soon drifts above or below, and their sky is their home. Wondrous pliancy in their movement; the way they bend and break. Rupture. Sever. Fracture.
But I’m so beautiful, aren’t I? That’s what makes it so painless. She wishes it, she tells me so. She’s like a spider. My brain is a web and she is plucking at the cords. I feel them talking. They’re all talking. I pick up their dispirited sentences, and like a magician, I make everything else recede. I am partial to thinking that once you start down the path of sinister wishes, you have tunnel vision, and there’s no way off of it. So what if I tear down the path and let them plunge off of a cliff? It’s faster, and they pass out half-way down.
If you take a left turn at your inhibitions and fall into the dusk, I will show you my world. My artifice breathes mortality into a thousand empty shells; the next, it parches my passion for anguish. Just speak up if you want me to stop. No? Then I shall continue ever after until we reach Elysium and take to the air to soar.

# data[].attributes.body
The titian dunes of the desert inflict mayhem on the brittle mechanics of scrap metal carts fuelled on rags and bones. Without means of motion, a man is unlikely to survive in this uncertain habitat, least of all a Ruckfire. His dehydrated body battles the heat for mere hours before descending into hallucination, which is perhaps why when this Ruckfire, Quade, is taken hostage, he views the patterned sack tied around his head as prison bars of red and yellow.
These arid wastelands were the site of mass destruction, a nuclear war that tarnished the sands with the blood of its victims. The Halves, the ‘people’ left in the flames, divided into clans. Some were vicious like the Ruckfires, preying upon the so rarely attained meat of careless human hunters from neighbouring factions. Some retained their humanity and built a new civilisation out of the rubble they were left in. Some got mixed up in the conflict, like Quade, a lone humanitarian in a barbaric sect. But most went insane.
A thick gust of air redolent of searing flesh roused Quade from his languor and permeated his senses, making him gag.
“Awake,” said a raspy voice, and the charred scent hit him again.
The sack was lifted from his head with a flourish. Two men stood before him, one was large with blackened lips and a moustache protruding awkwardly from his face, the other smaller and adorned in chequered leggings, twirling a sharp blade on his index finger.  A moment passed in which the men meandered around Quade in mirthless muteness.
The small man with the knives spoke first, “What do we do with him?”