This tribe thrives in bureaucratic environments.
Its primary output is a list of checkboxes. Its priests man the toll booth of progress. Every man who would pass through it has to pay the price.
The Byzantine maze appears as the model of clarity in front of it.
It bakes in multiple levels of redundancy to ensure no unforeseen progress occurs.
And progress being shy shuns this tribe. Afterall what glory is there in being anticipated.
This tribe justifies its dysfunction citing the apocalypse that would result otherwise. The threat of anarchy keeps its members staring at the wall.
The mouth of the Cave, and all its terror of truth and beauty and serendipity remain hidden in the light of day.
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