When we are in love, we think we can take on the world; we are blinded by this “It’s you and me baby,” ideology. This attitude is especially harmful for the iconoclast for he establishes his renewed neophyte-strength, for although he possess energy and strength prior, love charges it, galvanizes it, augmenting its strength and ferocity. But love is fiction. Thus, the foolish iconoclast, for lack of a better word, draws renewed strength from a source that is ephemeral and illusive as dreams. And he reaches new heights of independence, at the same time enslaving himself to the other. He frees himself from the collective of man and draws the courage to repudiate all those things he hates, all those falsities that to him, rather than adding to the picturesque quality of life, are simply fatuous. So he begins to discard those things that are vexatious, fastidious. He sets out to rid himself of all those things that are vacuous save one thing!
He then opens his eyes and realizes that though he has had the courage to free himself, that he has created an environment whose fecundity allows for the transition, for that transcending that further takes us on the path to freedom for it elevates us to something more divine, more pure, he is unable to avail himself of this! (There is a point where those that are climbing the latter realize that to travel in the opposite direction, that is to say down, will take them to the same destination!) He turns around and realizes that his Tower of Babel is not made up of ivory, but of something of inferior quality! And it collapses.
So what? It does not matter. We are all to die! The good and the bad, they shall all receive the same reward. The hero and the mean man, have the same fate as the son of Peleus reflected. “Aïe!”
And thus, to-day shall wait for you this stronghold of ivory and bone that I am, for I was light trapped in a handful of lime.