An old gate with the paint peeling off and the legend dead inside, with a slit where something’s clawing its way out. Out into a world where no one’s still alive. People ransacked the planet. Heaps of trash that you can gorge on till you bust, baby. They cut the wings off food, the “eroticism of old age”, they turned its body into sculptures and displayed them in a gallery of our downfall. You can’t have what you can’t find. You can’t use what they didn’t throw out. You’ll live, but not for long. There’s a drought, everywhere is on fire and you’re going to try to fix it. You’re naive, but determined… but when you close your eyes there are colours everywhere and music playing. (Jakub Hošek)