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A futile species of the gods....

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Nameless sage: To be chosen... but nothing predestined us of this condition. We tried to control history, in order to escape & exceed it, but we sunk even deeper into it. Lost all chance of ever rising to metaphysics or sacred destiny, we foundered in a magnificent, yet futile drama, without enigma or enlightenment, one which, leaving the politician & philosopher indifferent, interests only the historian.

Whosoever chooses time is absorbed by it & buries his originality within. One is chosen, one becomes so - neither by purpose nor by edict.

Our penchant for utopia is merely a vague memory projected into the future - a vestige converted into an idea. But it’s our fate - as we aspire to paradise - to create dystopias.


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