Die Todesfahrt: The Ride to Death. Whenever we examine a new acquisition we are drawn into its drama, its interplay of symbols and themes. Immediately we look for our humanity in it. In extreme hubris we decide we are the cyclists! Yes! We circle bravely above a pit of danger for the enjoyment of others. We risk life and limb! But no, that is not who we are.

Next we consider ourselves the lion tamer. Surely that is our position. Are we not always between things? Are we not always somehow orchestrating some fierce menagerie? We are truly the center, lamely defended by the barest of threads—but again we are wrong.

I said we look for our humanity—but in such anthropocentrism are we not deceived? The truly observant have found themselves already among the lions.We mistakenly believe we are above, or at the centre, when in truth we are always part and parcel the maelstrom itself! We find ourselves trapped, tormented. And while the crowd gasps at the bravery of the cyclists, what of us? What should befall us if one should in fact fall upon us? Fifteen pounds of metal frame, and bloody well-tailored pulp we dare not eat. And yet we cannot leave. We can only posture our rage.

You thought perhaps we were the spectators? Not all postcards invite us as tourists. Do you see bars in front of you? No, my friend, you and I are always, and only, enclosed.