Business as usual is to quietly conspire against existence, that is against being fully aware of your own existence, its limitation and terrifying contingency: there is no moment at which it might not cease, no moment in which it is free from a nameless guilt. As if every face you see on the street conceals an act of courage, that of simply presenting oneself alone on stage, of presenting oneself for judgement, and the complicity of your gaze, witnessing the truth they cannot conceal behind the mask of character, subjection to fatality. To intervene in the lives of others, to affect them in some way, catalysing a change and so drawing forth their subjectivity, is also to be made aware of your own freedom for good or ill, the irreversibility of the slightest act. So you enter into relationships to become known, to be reassured that there is a fair exchange of familiarity in which loneliness and dependency are moved out of sight. The structures assemble themselves even without awareness because the forces are always present and they bring about forms, and forms of forms, a fantastic display that weighs nothing and can be swept away as easily as a cobweb.