Mask makers taking from the dreamworlds dancing sideways slipping through doorways, wearing keys on our faces we sit with Artaud after the asylum his thoughts I could just kill you -as matter of fact as his reflection- worn like a mask itself. Shatter the masks? How cruel this man is. These masks open doors. So many worlds and he is left with only one, his own. His keys are shattered. Foolish, foolish, masks do not disguise. They open the outside from the inside. Shatter the masks, the mad king roars, show me show me show me who you are. We wear the masks we make to open doors to worlds we want to take from. Foolish king, foolish fool. Ah but not so foolish as we when we forget to remove our masks and we outgrow them become infected and pus-filled caricatures with swollen fake faces. The key no longer fits. The door is closed behind us. I could just murder you - as matter of fact as his reflection in our eyes. energy unwasted I will save you from your self-made chains instead if you swear it swear it swear it never to return. The dead are in the ashes so leave them there. Dead things only make dead things.