Pascal’s Cruci-Fiction

The Circus has opened its tent to the world.

The world has foreclosed the real in the Circus.

A Circus is. As round as a hell.

The Circles of Hell are infinite.

On the brink of the Limit is heaven.

It is only Thorns that pierce free from Circles.

Yet by extending.

The lines of a cross.

A coordinate system appears.

Fear is on stage.

Its centre is empty.

In the kernel of void sits Pascal.

Pascal sings to look on the bright side of life.

The system dreams but in darkness alone.

Lullabies are. What Pascal has to sing.

The form of salvation is a crown made of Thorns.