The Artist

“The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that, you’ve got it made.”
Arthur Bloch

Agustine became a Father of the Church also just for hiding some facts. They are enumerated in a now remote apocryphal parchment, which existence Ousley deduce from the Dead Sea Scrolls, and that time (or will) wrecked. What’s left of it is ciphered in Jaromir Hladìk’s “Vindication of eternity”, among the odd lines of the sixth chapter. I will just relate, for an higher will, what the philological sternness imposes.

“[…] He was a man full of genius, like nobody had seen before. He created a plot of exploitation, corruption and degeneration, which not even the smartest person could have recognized as it’s really is. The exaggerated perfection and the hindsight allowed the plot to be unveiled; anyhow, much work has been done in order to remove the defects and to file the roughness. Today the few who speak the truth are dubbed as mad; I entrust these unanimous words the future, hoping that the truth will vanish along with the lies. It happened a long time ago, but the consequences still afflict our present, and, if people will still suffer the same weaknesses, the future will be discouraged for several other centuries. He was the finest mankind connoisseur ever existed; he managed to exploit hope and limits, building ideals and forgeries, whom even facts don’t influence at all. He was, and I’m not afraid to say it, the most terrible and deepest artist; he modeled his existence considering his death and his death considering the eternity. Nothing in his life was decided by anyone other than him; no act or will were finalized to anything other than the infinity. His plan was perfect as much as its fulfillment. Those who are still named his “disciples”, “epigones”, “follower” or other declinations, are nothing but mechanisms of a gigantic machine, whom he imprinted a permanent and diabolic motion.

The following centuries will justify his vertiginous project. According to untrustworthy sources, in the crowning moment he pronounced these words: «You deride me, you tear me apart, you spit me. But you don’t realize, oh you fool, that you’re doing nothing but accomplishing my will! Keep on pirckling me, Longinus, for every wound caused by your spear is another step towards the eternity.» ”