Singularity, a record
No matter how I move, with my hand or my whole body, I think of something or someone. I say something and then deny it.
I set up a situation.
But nothing changes anyway, so it seems.
The essence of everything changes, but mysteriously enough it also remains the same.
There are processes and situations which I can influence through direct action.
And hidden behind it all are images which evoke anxiety within me, phantasmagorical anxiety.
I don’t know where they come from, but they’re there.
I gather up all my courage. I use a trick to unveil individual images.
I use guile to deceive myself, to fool my own senses.
And then they’re right there in front of me. Anxiety grips my throat and tightens, I cannot speak.
But what I see is ridiculous, there’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of.
What have I learned about myself?
The combination of these images offers nothing. Have I deceived myself or been deceived?
Who has deceived whom?
I just can’t tell how it is.
This threshold is where madness begins.