I am a communist. Overthrowing the rich is my shining dream on a hill. A dream of famine, carnage, and superstition. But don’t talk too much or too loudly because any portrayal of civility drowning in irrelevance will be met by throwing you into an enforced poverty and humiliation that leads the ruffians to fight back with sticks and stones. But only the writer gets to examine reality. We are the serfs, and as such, we are not worthy of an explanation. Why are comments here. You are not allowed to comment within the context of the truth. You cannot tell this story of mass violence, revenge, and, of course, eating cake, without noticing the pool of blood in the corner of the room. You are only words. Words do not count in any of the adding up. We are afraid to write what we see, what we know, what we have been through before. Why is it we are gagged. Because it is not our right to tell this story and we might add a few juicy bits to our reality and reality. The killing fields are still the killing fields only this time it’s criminals who are not the criminals because now they are the government. If the New York Times discriminates, and… Attitudes and the sneering at us gets your head on a spike. Serfs have been known to drop a spoonful of cyanide makes the medicine go down. Serfs reach an abused point where murder is a political act. A political act. Just like today. The rich will never take any responsibility and they always refuse to die or change. Why are they here.