[Sculpture] It’s black stone, smooth as a baby’s bottom. Ozymandias, in over his head, has kissed the mud that made him these millions of sunrises sunsets, idle. Prone to toppling through hubris, vicissitude, or old age even, this heavy falls from his ‘same old same old’ pedestal as regimes change and armies invade. February March April May catches up on his Napoleon Complex. Some dead white male guy remembers the deal, the ‘nasty woman’ elegies, but too is toppled from his paper plinth by words, mere idle words. They’re etched across the base, findable on this YouTube clip: 1,955,057 Views.