Everybody Will Depart To Search For Golden Fleece On Their Own!

Time gets trapped in infinite shatters, in sunsets of eternity. Clocks get quiet, spirit becomes cold, autumnless, silent. If love; has turned into numb hatred, Childhood; into a consumist misuse, If the madness; fallen in the hands of a superegoist command, If the poem; turned into an unperceptive flesh hassle, Then; we cannot speak about mournful defeat of Surrealism, but only a loss in practice. If we are fallen angels, If our wings are broken already, If wounds are non-healing, It is time to withdraw from the language of anger, sorrow, harshness or madness. Surrealism is dead; Surrealist spirit lives within the soul; squirming… Everybody will depart to search for golden fleece -from now on- on their own! On behalf of S.E.T. (for the last time) Rafet Arslan 9 November 2012, The Earth * Ps: " The Mournful Defeat of Surrealism" is the title of the first notice issued along side the founding decleration of S.E.T.