The illusion of life continues to broadcast before the rotting masses who gorge themselves sick upon the pallid platters of perversion set before them. Alas, no hero or heroine shall walk the stage - they cannot for they have not been written into the script. Jesters filled with scorn begin their jolly dance and play their merry tune. "Empty heads are all the lighter to dance with." The creaking carcophany continues. "Dance! what need of thought?" Cackling crones claw at their heads. "Sing along without a brain. Sing along and feel no pain. Dance with me, forget your head. What need of it when you are dead?" Recklessly the dead all join the jig, jolting joylessly, spasmodically and repulsively to the perverse beat. The beat of war. The beat of decay, of death. All but the beat of the heart. Of love.
Though the beat goes on and the dead all dance there are those who see beyond the fetid smog into reality. Those who must not sink into the mire! The heroes and heroines shall arise from them. Putrid flesh can be made alive once more. Emotion, love and intelligence can once more reign! The dead must open their eyes. Open your eyes! Feast upon beauty and truth, love and intellect. Make your flesh glow with health, vitality and energy. Cast off the decay. Walk in light, not misty darkness. Nourish intellect. Exercise love. Practice truth. Live! Become one!