XII. Double Gallery
Opening night. Open the night out onto.
Into deft exposure like a time-lapse
photograph. Titans for high-end ambiguity.
The reflection heels upon the mirror's command.
To heal the wounds of mimesis.
To mirror the reproduction of language mirroring the language of reproduction reproducing language in a mirror mirroring the repented induction of anguishes or the repeated injunctions against the distinguished language of mirrors. A hall of hallowed ears in all like wicker mirrors. In each obstacle to grace a term that limits the denial, so that no mirror can produce a single unique production without taking account of itself as the main obstacle to reproduction.
Sleep tightens.
This time wound up healing.
Every third word is Rashomon.
Arbeit licks itself harder out of context in order to be more itself than itself. Otherwise, there would be no use in acting as it obtains to being what it is not. Something that can be posed in its disadvantages stubbornly clings to the forensics of foreplay as in the continual expectation of feigning belief. You never really know what you're thinking until after you've thought it (of it). That these terrestrial stars not clog up the thoroughfare of thinking through.
Dematerialize and then become
the double-barrelled tunnel of time.
These mirrors don't exist simply for appearance's sake; and yet one cannot forsake appearance qua appearance in Phenomenology of Spirit. If all these mirrors are simultaneously reflecting, then perhaps reflection is the ground of all mirroring. And speculative logic is what allows one to think within this disembodied space by actually placing oneself there. Logic is a burning house. In a glaucous heap like the world. And the world is haunting the ghost.
Now I remember having seen myself in another now I remember an other having seen myself now having seen myself I remember an other
-- "who" -- "that" -- "this" --
"it" writes:
"It's our body and we'll die if we want to."
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