The tiny holes are the footsteps. With a view from the above, there are footprints crossing each others to induce a wave of shading field, like the maize field under the reviving wind, all deflected...the combination of distinct affirmations and decisions forms a line of continuity, or be it regarded as a hierarchy of generations. Visual appearance is a false impression. I appear to be awake in front of the numerous changing faces and the mania threatens my ability to differentiate one by one. A face is the mirror to judge. There is always a turning point. People are all trying to give you a shock. You react, but you never arrive. When there is a puppet dance, you would follow the threads that have not been cut off, they extend from the above, and it all goes up to a moving hand that you believe is controllably visible or not. After the crowd passes, you will follow.
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