We are living and dying in a landscape that is owned by others. They squeeze the pulp and take it for themselves. Meanwhile, we scurry through the dimly lit streets. If we should labor, then they extract from our labor the good, and leave us only with more labor. If one of us should come upon some light and try to share it, that bright one is brought into the courts, and the light is taken away. The light is re-sold to us, and it costs everything we have to buy it.
Rather than that,
In anger over that,
In defiance of that,
POYAIS
We make works that are the figments of dreams, and we cause them to be -- in the midst of life. They cannot be predicted, anticipated. They cannot be bought or sold. We provide them as beggars for other beggars. This is light that may not be taken. It is our joint light.