Civilization Is a Devourer —Our Menu Consists of the Poor, the Weak, and the Marginalized.

Before I begin, let me tell you a story.

There was a woman writer from Alabama who lived in long-term poverty. What tormented her far more than poverty itself was that the works she had poured her heart and soul into were completely ignored by the world. Until the day she died and was buried in an unmarked grave, both she and her writings were invisible—like air.

More than a decade after her death, her book Their Eyes Were Watching God suddenly exploded into recognition.

Her name was Zora Neale Hurston—a genius abandoned by her time.

You think Zora was an exception?

No. There are many more. I can list a long string of names:

Franz Kafka—barely read in his lifetime, tormented by illness, begging his friend on his deathbed to burn all his works.

John Keats—lived in extreme poverty, his published works savagely attacked by critics, dead of tuberculosis at twenty-five.

Bruno Schulz—kept like a pet by a Nazi officer, then shot dead in the street; most of his manuscripts lost forever in the flames of war.

Emily Dickinson—lived in seclusion and solitude; almost all her work ignored. Only about one in two hundred pieces (roughly ten poems) was published in her lifetime.

And my personal favorite, Henry David Thoreau. He couldn’t even find a publisher willing to take his work. Even when he self-published, almost no copies sold. What a wretched fate.

Now, back to the main question:

Why do I say civilization’s true face is that of a devourer?

Because today, any person—including you reading these words—can take the complete works of every writer I just listed, print them, adapt them, parody them, turn them into games, visuals, digital products, or any other commercial form. And most importantly: for free. No authorization needed. No royalties. No responsibility.

This is exactly what the subtitle means:

Our menu consists of the poor, the weak, and the marginalized.

I find it hard to imagine a writer who, after a lifetime of isolation, poverty, hunger, illness, torment, criticism, neglect, and humiliation, would still foolishly hand over the full copyright of their life’s work. It reminds me too much of my unworthy ancestors—

Exhausting the resources of China to please foreign powers.(量中華之物力，結與國之歡心。)

So how did all this come about?

From my perspective, we must ask: What is civilization, really?

To a creator, civilization is like the foul, stinking organ hidden inside the loincloth called the Berne Convention. That is civilization’s true appearance.

It stays perpetually erect. The poor, the weak, and the marginalized are the ones it can violate at any time, without consequence.

Yes, the root of all this is the Berne Convention.

Born from specific historical conditions and a web of competing interests, the double standards it enshrines are no accident.

It is the instinctive choice of politicians who call themselves civilized when dealing with creators—not negligence, but deliberate design.

It legally defines how to rape a creator:

“Fifty years (or seventy years) after the author’s death, the work belongs to all humanity.”

The subtext is crystal clear:

“Your suffering in life is none of my business. Only your work after death concerns me.” “Your creative torment is none of my business. Only the value of your work concerns me.”

“While you’re alive, I don’t care. Only after you die do I start to care.”

My summary of the Berne Convention is this:

“Most creators live and die in obscurity. But the moment they create something of value, we will, in the name of civilization and all humanity, legally seize their work.”

Is this law? No. This is the monstrous offspring conceived when those with guns and those with money make their dirty deals.

If anyone wants to refute me, answer this first: While these writers were alive, what did civilization ever give them?

What did it give Kafka? — Illness, loneliness, humiliation, and the despair that made him want to burn his life’s work.

What did it give Dickinson? — A lifetime of silence and neglect, leaving her poems to rot in a drawer.

What did it give Thoreau? — Cold rejection from publishers and commercial failure even after self-publishing.

What did it give Schulz? — A bullet, and the permanent disappearance of his manuscripts.

Creators bear all the risk, endure all the pain, and give their entire lives. No one helps them in hardship, no one protects them when rejected, no one stands up for them when censored. But the moment their work succeeds, civilization suddenly becomes generous:

“These works belong to all humanity!”

“They should circulate freely!”

“This is a victory for culture!”

To me, this is nothing but harvesting.

This is profoundly unfair to creators.

Some may argue:

1. All culture builds on previous culture—there is no purely “individual creation.”

2. Cultural monopolies hinder civilizational progress, so works must be shared with all humanity.

Then let me ask in return:

Why is it that cultural property—which only grows more abundant—is granted far weaker private ownership protection than land property—which becomes scarcer with population growth? Cultural works are the hardest to destroy, the most accumulative, and the most beneficial to future generations, yet they are deemed “cannot be permanently private.”

Meanwhile, the most finite, scarcest, and most easily monopolized resource—land—is allowed permanent private ownership. What kind of logic is this? Is it fair?

Let me expose the real logic behind it:

The monopolists of cultural property are usually individuals or publishing companies. The monopolists of land are nations and top-tier capital. So now you understand? When it’s their turn, private ownership is sacred. When it’s someone else’s, everything must be shared.

One more question:

I admit culture builds on previous culture. But isn’t every successful person in the world also standing on the shoulders of those who came before? By that logic, shouldn’t their wealth also belong to all humanity? So why can capitalists pass their wealth down through generations, while a poor writer’s work must be opened for free use by everyone? What kind of logic is this? Is it fair?

My final question is:

Why must creators’ works be shared, while the wealth of the successful does not?

I believe even those who can answer this question dare not answer it.

At this point, civilization is not merely a devourer. It is carrying out a slow, simmering structural exploitation of creators.

All the costs are borne solely by the individual creator, while civilization reaps the harvest and calls it “for the benefit of all humanity.”

Some may ask: Is there really nothing a creator can do?

My answer is clear, certain, and absolute: Yes.

Morally, you can reject any bondage the Berne Convention imposes on your work.

But in reality, your rejection is meaningless. No country will recognize it. No law will protect it.

This is the cleverest trick of the devourer—it has packaged rape as an international convention.

Therefore, I believe this:

Anything of true value should belong only to those who truly appreciate it and understand its worth.

Not like a cheap public bus that anyone can board and ride whenever they please.

Sadly, the world has already tacitly accepted the “legitimacy” that the Berne Convention forces upon creators.

This reveals one simple, brutal truth that no one dares mention anymore:

Civilization needs culture, but it does not need the creator himself.

The devourer only needs food, not human beings.

Today they feed on creators.

Tomorrow they can turn you into ammunition.

As for me—a quietly burning creator—I have only my pen and my thoughts.

I will use my works as weapons to challenge this system.

—To every creator who continues to shine in the darkness.

By VON(壹叔瘋神)