Nothing Heroic

Rain drummed on my roof as on steel, and I awoke to the sight of a dog on my bed. Thought I. The world is overpopulated. With sameness. Just like beasts of burden, like slaves we shop. Our matter-of-fact and well-equipped appearance against the muddy ochre walls of a crowded mall. The trotting step, round. And round.

A battalion from the Somme marches up with music, an overwhelming sight. Everything yellow with mud. The unmilitary, matter-of-fact appearance, the steel helmets, the equipment. The trotting step. Nothing heroic, just like beasts of burden, like slaves. Against a background of circus music. - Paul Klee, diary entry, 6th December, 1916