To write. With a pen that's now a key but doesn't open doors or windows or cars or lamps or trunks or diaries or mail boxes or homes or brains or hearts nor do they open mouths. Never did. What they could only do was help lean forward to destrucion and maybe chaos with all it's beauty and magnificence. Wonder what was beautiful and what was not. Confuse and mislead into paths not a living soul had ever dared to walk beneath - or through.