So, what stops the doubting towards a fact that we are defeated and shaken like straw its veins dried,
shatter whenever the days, with their heavier steps, tread on us.
Is, that the most common art, attracted lights and applause, across our history,
Is the one who adopts even in contemporary language “an Iliad, an Odyssey, Genesis, a hero’s life, a heroism, etc., etc.”
Where the prophetic visionary of collective dreams, instead of an individuality of the self and its own premonitions.
while, in the course of the same history, the afraid defeated internal art, which was agreed, in a secret collective manner, to be called “the romantic”, to ridicule and taunt it,
I mean that art, flows from there as a susurration, to be picked up there as a howl,
– There / the nothingness –
that art was living alone and dying alone such as its creators,
moving, with a thief’s quietness, through other lonely selves, as the world’s ugliness increases inside them.

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