Totentanz: a post-contemporary tale of my dancing dead soul

Since the end of the Eleusinian Mysteries, humans have ceased to let their ego be dissolved in magical encounters with the divine, and mystical unions with nature and our creator have stopped existing. With its arrival, ecclesiastic Christianity has since negated to mankind the chance to have sacred ecstatic experiences, also supported by entheogenic compounds. However, more has been taken from people. The combination of Aristotelian moderation philosophy and Catholic castration has annihilated human beings in their most intimate and precious principles of being human and not beast. Humans are now denied the possibility of seeing beyond reality, to be prophets or high priests, mystics or shamans, but most of all, they have been denied the possibility of revenge, and to be openly hostile towards their enemies, without having to be persecuted by false moralism or guilt. Someone above you, they told us, has already done it all; he has sacrificed himself, he was a prophet, he made miracles. Now we must wait for him, for the invisible. The wait became eternal and we fell under the scrutiny of a giant judging eye, who, observing our every move behind the mask of cultural laws, left us in a gloomy cul-de-sac. Hippies have failed, mad people were incarcerated, asylums were hidden, and shamans were mocked. God is sought in objects and in photos of turquoise oceans, and the glamorized fifteen minutes of fame Andy Warhol talked about are now granted to anybody. My search for immortality is not a spasmodic sign of vanity but a real vengeance against God. It’s revenge against whoever has removed from my life pagan gods of the sky and of earth, Dionysian rituals and collective dances with the goddesses of the ocean, flowers and wine and magic hallucinogenic potions. The false God has never shown up. My wrath is palpable and my soul is dead; only through my paintings it can live again in its totentanz, a forever macabre dance.