the gig is quite plain, you won't tell it straight, or dox us your name, instantiate your gait; it is all very well that you do this; except there's a truth I must tell, a tennet or precept, that alighted me on a dew cover'd morn -- alighted me, a pleb, beggar, forlorn! Dear Nyms; From the shadows, you sell me your product, from citadels, you preach about air-gapped, firewalled, bullwarked bastions, and behave As though you know how the roads to hell are paved; I tell you, good people find this not a bit suspect, that such a tech-savvy-knowledgeable-on-the-subject -of-freedom nym has time and resources to share to code, to write, to pontificate and e'en dare presume to know--e'en their relics exhume--the saints. You want us to simply imitate full throated, like the loon call, sultry, drooling and bloated, to sneak to your chambers where hellfire dances, to be lulled by your lullabys, essays and stances, to believe your intentions are only well-meaning, while never once championing those voices of Liberty. "Privacy, Freedom and Anarchy," preaching, But never condemning oppressors, how peachy; of the one tune you're singing, my eardrums are sodden (Freedom-tech, feeedom-money, feeedom-people, yadda-yadda)! If, freedom-fighting nym, you are really what you say you are, then verisimilitude-giving is simply par for the course, de minimus; if, truly, it is Freedom's side you are on, then how long did you think that selling sneakers would fool us? If trust-building your angle, dear nym, then hark! say something worthwhile from your lairs so dark!