When Leon Trotsky called for a permanent war, he forgot for a moment what all of us have always known. War is permanent. All the battles we fight today will be fought on lands and seas and in dreams forever and ever. The only disbelievers are cowards and the only place of reprieve is art, which is the art of cowards. But in the great churning of time, maybe we will at some point have nation of cowards. Maybe even a planetary civilization run, maintained, governed by, and governing cowards. Maybe our Mount Olympus will be adorned by the art of the cowards and cowards will make pilgrimages and pay admission fees to stand in the nave of that sacred monument and admire the great cowardice of our greatest artist. We can’t tell if any of this will actually come to pass and we don’t care. But what we do know for sure is that our greatest artist will one day go to sleep and wake up short of breath with the absolute conviction that he is a coward. He will have two options open to him: Complete erasure of the dream from his memory or the erasure of Mount Olympus from the face of the earth.