A world riddled with umbilical bonds and the recorded orgasms of Madonnae. Watching through square glasses, curtained windows and bedroom mirrors. They all break and the frames remain hollow. These are the final gasps of a man on his deathbed, fearful of purgatorium’s verdict: While we've been shut up in his harem, we've had the time to watch him. To observe our jailer; our lord. He once invented a woman, and out of her fourteen more were born. They were his metaphors, his hypotheses, his obscurities. They kept multiplying into a thousand mouths to smile and moan with. Armless Venuses against obelisks, to castrate, to comfort, to tuck in bed. Through the years, the chain of symbols lengthens, but the terrain remains the same. The maestro ages, his myths decay with him. We’ve found out about you. We know everything about you.Corroded, they fade before him, as he laughs ruefully through Marcello.
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.