He doesn’t know us, nor does he want to. And that is his fatal error.
The artifact floats upwards; enormous. A projection only existing as conjunction. Anointed neon tiara, wrapped up in black net; the smiling, inflated Donatella swells with devastation. Distorted reflections of mirages in a hall of mirrors. You’re the clown, the Martian. You can't hide anymore. We've got you in close-up; rooted as you are, to the same desert earth. Shoot Her down and he goes down with it. A lifetime of staring at the shadows on the walls, not knowing they are mere imitations of reality. He cannot live with us anymore. He cannot live with himself. Climbed so far into the cave of representation, the light of the real blinds him. All the more tragic, he was the one that plucked his eyes out.
The naked dreamer, paralysed, shivers. Draw up your overcoat darling, settle back to sleep. Smick smack, smick smack and a bust of mama to kiss goodnight.