Fragmento del texto de Keith Payne realizado para la exposición ]

& still he throws his arms out wide “to love the beauty of his bullets.”
Still slouching toward the light yes we’ve been here before in yellow
          Altamira cavemen and kings streaks in the night.
Still the witches in full flurry spiral on the tail of a scalloped moon
          from where down below we seem so inconsiderate.
Still the ass sits now in the house out of the byre. You carried him
          all the way on your back through the sludge.
Still buried under the barbed wire in the stone cold ground petrified
          in a breach in the hillside no one will plough around and all
          his travelling done.
& still they tell it so. Sit filthily innocent on the throne and pierced
          bleed.

(excerpt from A CHOICE STILLED IN 33 FRAMES) KEITH PAYNE.