I am a communist. The issue is not grief. The issue is survival. Ask anyone with HIV. I do not know homo sapiens who have time for grief. We are too busy with our widgets. Building them. Eating them. Sleeping among them. Breeding them. Surrendering them. Widgets. Fake widgets. Big widgets. Sex widgets. Car widgets. Potato chip widgets. Golden parachute widgets. I want one of those. Therein, we have reality with all its own little widgets that make the planet run like the Great Machine. Is Johnny less busy. Or is Johnny running on empty. What exactly is little Johnny’s last name. If only we could become gentleman. Therein contained. Boys take it outside. There is no one around who can see that both boys are suffering. You have to grab both boys and pull them off the fight. Sorry. This is the trenches. Pull-Them Off-Now. Suffering and loss are inherent to culture because culture itself cannot avoid the costs of new rituals, new anarchic, indeed, where toxic duplicities are not unlike the sacred reciprocity where no one is at fault. The rich are at fault. Make them give it all back. It’s Default that becomes diffuse because we are our bits, tidbits. We fall apart. Entropy is the opposite of rejuvenation. Our subliminal good things cannot count because they are subliminal. I do not know or understand what good people means. Seriously. I do not get it. I have diagnosed high-functioning autism. I am not like you. What might you do to me. Anything you want. Others have. Not you, too.