A Place For Every Man And Every Man In His Place

It is vital for the conduct of bigotry that people know their places.
They must be swept under in a flood of chronic persecution due to the diuretic self-expression of rubbish, so that they aren't wiped out exactly, just overwhelmed.

They can see what goes on, but they mustn't look.
To discourage looking, the Dogs of Discipline bark(or snuffle) at every evidence of perception, every movement of genuine interest.
We must be reduced to the state of blurred, blank staring, at nothing in particular and everything in general.
Only then will our tormentors release us from their 'reign of snot', while they look for someone else whose apparent liveliness is still apparent.

They generally do this from behind.
So that 'they can look at us and we can't look at them'.

An ideal venue for the persecution of the living is Public Transport.
Here they have a captive population of whipping boys onto which they can project their misery.

That is why England is the land of the car more than ever. And our torment continues after we escape from the Snake-Pits of Public Transport in the financial persecution of the motorist by the representative Government.

The tormentors are winning.
They must be.
They want to drive us out of the social space of the 'world', and the extent to which the government represents their evil in policy is the measure of their success in doing this.

The government knows this.
The government understands.
And soft-pedals while behaviour deteriorates, whether through deliberation or blind rebellion.

The government is the Iron Glove into which the dirty Velvet Fist fits.

It won't take 'one good kick to bring the whole rotten structure down'.
The structure is well and truly down and around our ears, and has been falling for decades.

There's nothing left to hold it up.
So it rests on our shoulders.