Scratch your head, the surface, the wound; a memory of times spent banging against closed doors. Tirelessly we fought for change but we are tired of getting none. Do not bite the hand that feeds you but eat the one that starves you. They claim they will save the world while they feed on everyone's hunger for more. More space, more time, more freedom.
What is the value of peace in wartime? What is the value of art in dystopia? How can you dream when there is no time to sleep?
We resist the forcefeeding by the dominant ideologies yet we are not starving. Quite the contrary, we thrive on the rotten and discarded bits of our society. Like cockroaches we multiply when you smash us, a nuclear blast will not kill us, and the disease you fear so much we carry with us.
You will not control us.