​At its core, comedy is an oxymoron. It is the "jubel-pessimist" in action. It functions only when two irreconcilable forces collide: tragedy and timing, pain and punchline. It is a "heavy thing" made light. However, comedy rarely admits to being a contradiction. Instead, it is disguised as a metaphor. We tell jokes about "the priest and the rabbi" or "the botched crown of thorns" because it is safer to speak in symbols than to speak in screams. The joke becomes a proxy for the raw "Eloi, Eloi" vibration beneath.

The Architecture of the Soul: On the Restoration of a Raison d'Être

The setting is a timeless, shadowy void. Isaac Newton sits at a desk, a compass in hand, illuminated by a single, sharp beam of light. Across from him, William Blake stands in a swirling mist of his own watercolors, his eyes wide as if seeing through the very fabric of the room.