What do you call this fantastic place where age that is weak rules youth that is strong?
Where parents prescribe life for children they cannot understand.
Where politicians and prostitutes and police and the press are despised but honored and great spirits are suspected of greatness but feared and cast out.
Where nations go to war for things they do not believe in and individuals will not go to revolution for things they do believe in.
Where those who know the rottenness in Denmark cannot think through to what caused it.
Where birds that fly are put into cages and men who soar are put into jails.
What do you call this incredible place where men go inch by inch to death in jails? Where they cease to hear and see and feel and smell and talk and walk and sing and sleep and work and play and think and be—not by order of gods or monsters but by order of men? What do you call a place where those who must cease to be are richer than those who are?
What do you call this awful place where every great spirit walks not only in rebellion and misunderstanding and isolation but in persecution?