We too must work, and the value we produce leaks away from us,
from each only a trickle but in all a sea of it and that, for the next
generation, will thicken into wealth for others to own and as a
congealed structure it will be used as a vantage point for the
bourgeoisie to direct new enterprises in new and different
direction but demanding always the same work.
The class war begins in the desecration of our ancestors: millions
of people going to their graves as failures, forever denied the
experience of a full human existence, their being was simply
canceled out. The violence of the bourgeoisie's appropriation of
the world of work becomes the structure that dominates our
existence. As our parents die, we can say truly that their lives
were for nothing, that the black earth is thrown down onto
them blacks out our sky.