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The sort of Figurative Surrealism that found satisfaction in the invention of new worlds sort of just fell off into its own genre fantasy which, like Winsor McCay, the pleasure of conjuring worlds was its meaning that one sadly must continually wake from. And ballyhooed fantasy that was conceded, relegated to the de-emancipated, and the slumbering masses. But as Göthe relays, "It is way better for you to have coerced, gently, a free man, than to have freed a thousand slaves."
