The Sublime is behind the bars of fiction

Some will ask. Why go to space to look for Real? Why try making a better revision of a fictional item? Why must it be the uppermost artificial environment, where we can find our Nature?

It seems that only in questioning of an image “Is it real?” and trembling awe that it is, that we come closer to the True and find yet another undomesticated Sublime. The True cannot not be swallowed, but in the capsule of staged fiction. Man’s Nature cannot be acknowledged, but in a cage of a myth.

This is myth. It’s beauty as long as it is behind fictional bars. Open it.

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