Of clay, they endure, stacked up together forming walls, walls, walls of millions and billions shapes and elevations, brick and man alike. Fitted together by the hands of their mighty maker like ragged jigsaw puzzle pieces in infinite rows and columns, pressing against each other so the maker could pile on some more. They bond over the mortar of their sorry existence, forced to work together as a whole according to the satisfaction of the client. But if man is clay, and brick is clay, and man and brick are creations, and brick is wall, and man is wall, and the maker of the brick wall is the maker of the man wall, and if the client asked for the brick wall, who asked for man, and why is man there?
“We need more mortar!” The Maker howled “The Wall of Man is falling apart.”
And down they crumble, man by man, and down they tumble, brick by brick upon the head of their maker. But if man is brick, and brick is man, and man is wall, and brick is wall, and the maker created the wall of brick, and the maker created the wall of man, then who designed man, and why would the designer of man let the Wall of Man fall apart?
And soon you realize that man created brick, and man built wall, and man designed wall, and man let wall fall apart, but it is man who piled man against man against man, and it is man who failed man and let man fall apart, and so on, and so on.