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Posted on December 19, 2008


… fifty years ago returning his stare; belonging to the same person, the different new person in the indifferent mirror.  Nothing seems to be altered for every day it changes but stays the same.  Forget the other face.  That was just a dream.  Janus-like I know in which direction the enemy will come.  I look at myself in the cracks and see yesterday the me who I saw looking back looking back.  This issue is complicated infinitely – ?  Sunday service resumes.  They collect in the churchyard.  In the crypt where they keep all the chairs and the huge wardrobe full of mitres and surplices; in that room where we will congregate for games; the best things of all.  This is beyond the tallness of the railings – through the park I measure the tree by the height I have.  (I could say.)  The mountain’s bulk by my own.  Interpret its distance by criteria that devolve from the movement and walking of habit.  But what context does for its physiology?  A kind of black box or infinity question is produced out of a hat.  A kind of absolute subjectivity that – being absolute – proves yet to be objective in so far as real absolutely.—WE INTERRUPT THIS FOR AN ANNOUNCEMENT— … My face alters but that is not what I see.  So that what is real about it is a kind of quantum of godly seeing.—WE INTERRUPT THIS FOR AN ANNOUNCEMENT—

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