random word here

it’s nobody’s fault but all over the world there are hundreds of thousands of living souls being fed screaming into the churning machinery, dying in agony, meaningless gristle amongst the cogs. Which is one way of looking at it. And if you’ve ever looked at it that way, can you always and forever more see the grease-proof paper shadow of the rearing pylons and broken nodding donkeys behind the crayon sunrise, that hollow tooth of Jericho rising through the ruin. We see now in assorted entrails the rot at the heart of it all, the blight at the roots, all the hungry mouths full of words, all the words of the world binding the world with their cold, tyrannical magic. from the word that was good to the words that speak the end

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