Notes from Soviet Dissident Ivan de Tourmaline Kabral

At first there’s a wrenching crack
And they bring you to with smelling salts. Your eyes refuse to focus so as not to see the horrors in that interrogation chamber. But you’re aware of them all the same.

And they pull at the wires that they’ve implanted under your skin and you tell them anything. But they don’t want to know anything. Just hurt you.

That’s why I left the McDonald’s company and joined with Magic Bullet Productions. If I had to tell you of every case of mind control I run across, it would take years. You’d likely flee, screaming.

Look, just accept that you’ll never know what I do or why. Or even whether it’s important or not. ‘Cos I couldn’t tell you in any case.

See, I receive letters.
I send them out.
I don’t open them.
I don’t want to see.

You know too much in this business, you’re automatically in trouble.
From inside the company.
Soon the witch hunts will start.
Soon the shelling.
The constant screaming.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get home again.
I don’t know if I could want to.

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