I have grown incurably nauseous from the huddled wallets of the Haneas Corporatus. Their greedy secrecy and their inexhaustable motifs reek with a deathly stench. They are not human. I am convinced.
"People simply disappeared, always during the night. Your name was removed from the registers, every record of everything you had ever done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied and then forgotten. You were abolished, annhilated: vaporized was the usual word." - from George Orwell's 1984.
Art? Life? Immitation? Or is this some gross intention played out by those horrible pigs? Are they using our great writers for their play books?
What shall be done about it?
One should lend an ear to Oaxaca! Bus drivers and pregnant women know democracy well and vote with sticks and rocks. No soap box influences, just want dinner for their families on the table so they can pray and be thankful. Sounds not hateful to me.
And tell me in what great work of fiction do fledgling boys become the midnight snack for cowardice monsters? And what unearthly forces grants passing to these Giggling Oligarchic Predators? I know of none!
So be done! and gone! from the cosmos You hath littered oh wicked scoundrels! Upon you, your own sick fantasies shall succumb. I have seen it! And I greet it!