Voice

Centuries of the future, here is my century, solitary and deformed - the accused. My client is tearing himself open with his own hands. What you take for white lymph is blood. There are no red corpuscles for the accused is dying of hunger. But I will tell you the secret of these multiple incisions. The century might have been a good one had not man been watched from time immemorial by the cruel enemy who had sworn to destroy him, that hairless, evil, flesh-eating beast - man himself. One and one make one, there's our mystery. The beast was hiding, and suddenly we surprised his look deep in the eyes of our neighbours. So we struck. Legitimate self-defence. I surprised the beast. I struck. A man fell, and in his dying eyes I saw the beast still living - myself. One and one make one - what a misunderstanding! Where does this come from, this rancid, dead taste in my mouth? from man ? from the beast? from myself ? It is the taste of the century. Happy Centuries, you who donot know our hatreds, how could you understand the atrocious power of our fatal loves? Love. Hatred. One and one... Acquit us! My client was the first to know the shame. He knows he is naked. Beautiful children, you are born of us, our pain has brought you forth. This century is a woman in labour. Will you condemn your mother? Eh ? Answer! (Pause) The thirtieth century no longer replies. Perhaps there will be no more centuries after ours. Perhaps a bomb will blow out all lights. Everything will be dead: eyes, judges, time. Night. Oh, Tribunal of the Night, you who were, who will be and who are; I have been! I have been! I, Franz von Gerlach, here in this room, have taken the century upon my shoulders and have said: I will answer for it. This day and forever. What do you say? Eh ? Answer! ( Jean Paul Sartre)

Nothing much to say, except for that, we wasted our time doing whatever we did now.