Tic-tac-toe

That there is space, existence, validity? The infinite alternation of one of two possible choices: yes and no, something and nothing, matter and emptiness, life and death, cross and noughness. We play while we're alive, knowing how the game will end. Every noughty — our regalia, office, status — is a futile attempt to grasp the straws of their own significance, forgetting the unobnoxious doomeness of being. Every cross is a reminder of that. A man plays his part with God, it is impetuous and obvious. There is no choice - there is no freedom. Only a quiet echo can be heard sometimes in the sounds of violin and piano, nera

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