Eschatology of greyness
Look at the grey. A grey square, a grey suit, a grey life of a grey person, a grey mess. Take in as much as you can. Roll around in it, like in dung. Soak up the grey with your eyes. Lick it off the cobbles, smog and clouds. Take as much dreariness out of the greyness of the days as you can. Draw this subdued hue into you. Pour it into your deep throats. Absorb it with all your cracks. Don’t forget the intimate zones. You’re seeing it for the last time, after all.
Soon your world will be shattered. The only greyness you’ll see will be that of the ashes of the burned world. A world without colours, without deities raising everything that is secular to the rank of sanctity, without elements.
Zarewicz does not tell the world anew. Zarewicz creates it, with a joy that any child can envy. Put a child next to Zarewicz and it will turn out to be an old man. Put an old man next to him, and he will turn out to be a diaper-pissing infant.
As much as God is the lord of Light and Satan of Darkness, Zarewicz is the god of colour, and what’s more, he holds the switch without which light and darkness are just dead concepts. Zarewicz is the most powerful tricksters of our time. A prestidigitator, a juggler, a magician.
Let us play together in the world he created because the one we are immersed in is a poor emanation of the ideas manifested in these colourful, symbolically shameless compositions.
Fuck greyness. Once and for all!