Here is the feast and beauty of its shiny meats, greasy bones, the aroma of butter before it goes rancid and mother-of-pearl adhered to the ecclesiastical metals of this nature that dies incessantly. The floor is covered in plastic jewelry that I collect. To capture the transience you have to close your eyes. I select parody, pomp and neo-baroque artificiality in search of the mostrification and its constant mutations. At a masquerade ball with blinking flashes, the spores float against the light. A momentary flash that lasts only an instant is diluted in pure oblivion. Who cares about the rest, we just need to believe that someone is taking care of everything. Whoever does not return home on time will start again from the beginning.