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?

Follies, nonsense.

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.

Isn’t it?