The Universe Is The Mirror In Which

You'll Understand When You've Forgotten What You Understood Before

Memories Images, Once They Are Fixed In Words, Are Erased.

You Have With You The Book You Were Reading In The Cafe, Which You Are Eager To Continue, So That You Can Then Hand It On To Her, To Communicate Again With Her Through The Channel Dug By Others' Words, Which, As They Are Uttered By An Alien Voice, By The Voice Of That Silent Nobody Made Of Ink And Typographical Spacing, Can Become Yours And Hers, A Language, A Code Between The Two Of You, A Means To Exchange Signals And Recognize Each Other.

The Universe Is The Mirror In Which We Can Contemplate Only What We Have Learned To Know In Ourselves

It Is Only Through The Confining Act Of Writing That The Immensity Of The Nonwritten Becomes Legible