A Collection Of Armour

It had never occurred to me before earlier this year that the word “panoply” existed.  One, of course, knows of a monopoly, but having a word exist for a collection as opposed to a singular had never seemed a requirement.

So how did I stumble across this word?  Was it in articles about sights or sounds or advertising or podcasts? No.  It was social media.

Panoply was or is (I’m still not actually sure which) a website created by Robert Morris for his doctoral thesis at MIT Media Lab.  Panoply was / is intended to be a social network to help people with depression; essentially it’s crowd sourced cognitive behavioural therapy.

The reason I don’t know whether I should be using “was” or “is” is because Morris has launched an app for the same thing called Koko, supposedly after the success of Panoply at trail.  The idea is that someone anonymously writes their story and what they feel from the circumstances.


Each response to the problem fits in to three broad levels – sympathy, reappraisal by assertion that the person with the issue is thinking illogically and then reappraisal by rewriting the story in a less negative way.  I think a neat trick that Koko has in its armoury, though, is that is asks those same people with issues to help others, thus they practice that re-evualtion technique which could, in turn, help them help themselves.

I don’t know how Morris came up with the name Panoply, but I like it because each definition works for such a noble cause:

  1. An extensive or impressive collection (which could refer to the network’s users);
  2. A splendid display (of help);
  3. A complete suit of armour (which is sometimes what people suffering from depression want).

Sometimes a word works.  If it can achieve its very meaning, I think that anything Panoply leads to will be invaluable.

The street is a boneyard, she glances
Numbers are drained at the end, end
Cradling heat waves and armour
Burn the body slowly
And how ready are you to know this
How do we live in the end, end

I bet you the price of the landmine
You won’t be here at the end, end
You won’t be slumped in a doorway
You’ll be standing above it
And how can you call this a free world
Who do you call out at the end, end

No more doubt about it

I wanna take you home
Take off your blindfold
And show you what I am
I wanna take you home
And find some new joy in this autopilot life
I wanna take you home
Slow down your heartbeat
And dry those glazing eyes
I wanna take you home
Blackout our windows
And hold you till we die

What if the first step was leaving
And stepping outside in the cold, end
Facing the smoke and you’re lurching
Down the alleys, kiss me
And how many lives lived in fear now
And who do we call in the end, end

There was a pattern of errors
There was a life here to mend, mend
I wasn’t watching the cold past
Put on my body slowly
And there goes a [?] of free men
Rattling round in the end, end

No more doubt about it

Armourland by Everything Everything



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