Zeus could not unmake the webs of stone that surround me. I have forgotten the men I used to be; I follow the hated road of monotonous walls that is my destiny. Straight galleries that curl themselves into secret circles throughout the years. Parapets cracked by the usury of days. In the pale dust I have deciphered a trail that I fear. On some concave evenings the wind has brought me a desolate bellowing or the echo of a desolate bellowing. I know there is Another in the shadows, whose destiny is to exhaust the long solitudes that weave and unweave this Hades and to thirst for my blood and devour my death. We look for each other. I wish this was the last day of waiting.
There will never be a door. You are inside and the fortress surrounds the universe and has no obverse nor reverse nor outer wall nor secret center. Do not hope the rigor or your path that stubbornly bifurcates into another, that stubbornly bifurcates into another, will come to an end. Your fate is made of iron like your judge. Do not expect the charging of the bull who is a man and whose strange plural form brings terror to the tangle of infinitely intersecting stone. It does not exist. Expect nothing. Not even, in the black twilight, the beast.