It goes something like this: symbolic orders survive at the cost of our dreams. They are sacrificed at the cost of everything. Joy and madness can be found down either path. If madness comes from the fear of what might compromise “everything,” then it is best to sacrifice your dreams.
Those of us “after the fact”—those left without a façade of order, be it at the violent hands of an other and/or the machinations of our own hearts—cannot produce violence because the purpose of violence is the survival of the order. The positive outcome of violence is death—a reminder to those still “alive” that the lack is a fait accompli. (This is why we put the insane and dying away out of sight.)
What is interesting is how dreams survive the violence. They float there as the dust settles, taunting both the dead and the red-handed, frustrating a common longing for peace. These vile ghosts, these messengers of a cruel God…we can name them all day long because they reside outside the abilities of our words.
Those who are either chosen and trained or who thrust themselves upon the laughing Deity, they come at worst to compete with these Caspers of the Castle, at best they return to us as one themselves. We will build our walls and our weapons, and they will dance on the battlefield.