
Requiem to the Road
Jul 24, 202010 min read
Men Without Faces
End times have been my obsession for years now. Not necessarily the eschatology of religion (though this cannot be ignored), but rather the impending annihilation of the Real forewarned in the dramatic works of Samuel Beckett. It was, after all, the bleak, barren, Godless landscapes of rubble and bones in Waiting for Godot and Happy Days, culminating with that chilling utterance in Endgame by Clov, who, looking through a telescope from the window of his moribund master's iso







