It is very rare that you monkeys surprise me. America, especially. Your pedantic, intrinsic fervour in identifying evil in everything is, quite frankly, hilarious. You call those among you who commit your petty little rapes and murders and robberies, monsters, as if they are something else, as if they have become something else. They have not. They are neither demons, nor some otherworld entity. They are you. You scuttle around with mouths gaping open, pointing fingers and wagging tails, and cry out just as you did when you wore stupid hates and ploughed the barren fields, Satan, Satan, evil! As if evil is something you can contain. As if it is something you can box and package and sell to one another. As if it is an isolation, a permeation, a disease. As if you can devise and prescribe yourselves clean.

Evil is you. Evil is a foetus itch under all of your skin. Evil is not an individual, it is not I. It is you.