We, the restless and relative few—we sleep just outside the gates to heaven, semi-permanent inhabitants in the temples of 21st century man. Slouching ever forward, our world on our back. What vain fools are we, to think we can ever truly be of this disjoint world that sprawls around us. This world that, we find, intensifies at its horizon. (For indeed! The horizon reified by our ancestors has fractured and diversified in the face of our so-called cosmopolitanism.) Yet—what greater fools we would be to never even try.

What has been the denouement of modern philosophy? It has been this: we no longer need to live in a world substantiated by the referent. We have been left to flesh out our own mythologies, knowing they are that and nothing more. This is the age of dreams, if only the dreamers would rise!