Please let me explain myself.

My name is John Erik Klapps. My story is very familiar even though you might not know me. Our story is the same. We don't know each other. I don't think we know each other. We might. I doubt our families travel in the same circles. I am writing this as a warning. I am writing this as an apology. I am writing this because no one is reading this. This is the sound of the keyboard without eyes seeing the output. This is the condolence card that no one will read. But you should. My family is very good at making money. They are very good at making money when others die. I hope this begins to make more sense as it goes along. I hope that what I've been told about is wrong, but I don't think it is. My grandfather started this. My father continued this. I had to. I didn't choose this. We closed the factory your family worked in. We shipped your jobs to small, bony, dexterous fingers in the far east. We built what you sit on. We knit what you wear. We made what you kill with. We built what gets you to your minimum wage job. We gave your mother cancer. We made the medicine that only prolonged her pained existence. We caused your infertility. We built and staffed your local maximum security prison. We bought patents and killed advancements. We stopped your movement. We killed your heroes. We are active entropy. We are the horrible noise in your brain that will not go away. The maddening headache that none of our beautifully packaged blood thinners will help with. We set this in motion. We let it get to this point. We are bigger than you think. We have done everything that you think we have. Everything. And we're sorry. At least I am. I hope that this makes sense. I hope that you can understand. I hope that souls are not based on genetics. Live from Clyde, Ohio.