Fetid remarks on the blackboards of our sufferings, chalking decay into the form of pain. We've managed to keep straight faces through the moribund tortures, even smiling while performing simple kind acts. But the masters extract too much from us and the world, for theirs is a bottomless greed that feeds on all that is valuable in life. We are too weak to stop them, we are too disorganized and in love with our paltry ways that avoid conflict and confrontation. We don't even respond to people in the supermarket, we have blinders on, we are not a community but a travesty of an act, perpetuating its biology throughout the ages to no purpose.