History is a tragic mask upon the face of a corpse long decomposed back into an earth that knows no beginning nor end. An unknowing earth is blessed with a golden age lasting as long as it takes for a drop of blood to taint it with the distinction of good from evil. Inner contradictions erupt into bloodbath and new forms slowly emerge from the trauma. War destroys value and the victors are faced with the responsibility of relating the sacrifice of past value to the merit of future value. A new status quo is redrawn in reference to an idealized past. The face of new value remains distorted by collective recollections of old value. The lines of tradition become projections of fragmented delusions and then the oedipal circle is closed when the eyes are no more. |