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Play in the labyrinth. Wander its streets. Its deserts. Speak to its people. They are us; they wander in a world commensurated by our hopes. There are cities and deserts and lovers and revolutionaries. In this city you will find the phantasms that overtook us like the ecstacies and terrors of dusk, and not having been given form by our world, were forced to live in exile among the labyrinth of dreams. This is that labyrinth -- one separated from ours by only the thinnest mist. As we stare at the unbreachable mist, towards those other worlds, the mist reflects back the single word: "hope". This is how we have come to imagine that land of spectres. And as these phantoms stare at us, their downcast eyes longing for us to reach a hand through the watery divide, a word, an unintelligible glyph appears to them separates us from them:"reality". For in their labyrinth, the reality of men is not yet real. They see us like panthers in glass cages,as we claw against the impenetrable mist. And every once in a while a ghost begins to whispher and the mist evaporates and the infinity of the dice throws return to mind. A trap door opens between their world and ours. It is through that thin space of absence that love floods into this world.