Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.”

Philip K. Dick

The actors have left the stage, gone to their separate realities. The illusion of their chemistry lost, their dialog—angry and loving in turn—forgotten. It’s just stage hands, now, silently and separately doing their work. The house lights are up. The trompe l’oeil props can be seen for what the are.

No more sound and fury, but no art, magic, joy for joy’s sake either. But was it ever more than work for wages? Was it always just memories of fantasies, tales were told by—and to—an idiot? Doesn’t matter now as the strutting and fretting has ended, disbelief is resuspended and nothing significant remains. So…

calm down
what happens
happens mostly
without you

— Josef Albers