Why is not the question. How? Now that is a question worth examining. How could I, being born of such conventional stock, arrive a leader of the rebellion, an escapist from a conformist world destined to find happiness only in which cannot be explained? I brought you here for a reason, but unfortunately you and your sentimental minds are doing me no good. My brain is frozen. Locked. I have to break free from this culture of mechanical reproductions and the thick incrustations dying on the surface. Oh christ. Fuck it.