In the half-lit twistings, turnings… Stink of bull shit… Heaven’s burnings in the gut, the very soul… What is this, that you are seeking, Hero, here among the reeking passages that twist around, and lead you into cul-de-sacs, hemmed in by walls marked with the axe, double-headed and two-faced…? Once upon a time you raced– in sunlight gleaming off the sea you sweated in your lissome grace, by the age-twisted cypress tree, stood tall …