Once one sees the sameness in pain and joy, sadness and happiness, work and play, dying and living, blue and yellow, fast and slow, real and fake, ugliness and beauty, ...then choosing becomes more and more difficult. Such a disposition of numbing futility is the god I face during silence. Arresting. It can kill an entire weekend. From here. From this zero, everything should be measured.

Imagining the role of artist. We find him on the ground, laid down like a randomly dropped rag doll. "Does he feel pain on his neck by keeping like that?" The first man behind the glass wall asks. The second man takes note of the question and adds... "His shoe strings are tied. I wonder when he did those?" The third man immediately thought of something really funny to say, but their attention was immediately drawn to something with the artist. Slowly, with some level of intent, he begins to raise an arm. The wrist follows.

- Aristotle Acero