Moonlit Night, Jazep Drazdovič

there exist such forms of cruelty which are so utterly pervasive and ubiquitous that they are to be rendered mundane. they become invisible. they do not lurk in the shadows. they smile in gleaming white teeth and a firm and weighty hand confidently placed on the shoulder of a child. they do not spring from dark alleyways and unmarked cars. they walk brightly in the sun. they wear freshly pressed shirts at church. beautiful, white shirts with all the creases in the appropriate places. they shake your hand and offer a polite and gentle chuckle at your bad jokes. they sit in desks behind plexiglas barriers and distribute violence in bored and tired tones. they come in the mail. they are folded in envelopes. they show up on family television. they become jokes in children's cartoons. they get put on t-shirts. they call you on the phone. they are advertised in the newspaper. they're on the radio. they're in the food. they're in the drink. they're in the air. they're in the dirt. they are an old friend which you try desperately to forget was something far worse. they come wrapped in plastic in single serving bars. they are handed out at train stations. they wear a badge. they wear scrubs. they wear a roman collar. they wear expensive makeup. they wear luxury aftershave. they are luxury aftershave. they come as a free amenity for all renters above the 38th floor. they collect in particles of water vapor in the air and they form from metal salts. they walk on stage into a packed stadium. they are cheering crowds. they are a small whisper. they are a last word. they are a jurisdiction. they are form of power. they are an expression of fear. they saturate the very earth. they seep deep into the ground where our great-grandchildren will learn to fear them.