You can go out to the edge of yourself in silent thought by means of careful questioning, but if you try to leap from that edge you find that you have already anticipated the move and find yourself cradled in your own arms. You question, but the questioning is always missed, the horn evaded with automatic skill. Questioning, enquiry, self-reflection these are all employments of the same basic device of thought, variations on the question mark, an oddly divided signifier, like an upside-down "i" with its head twisted into a backward-facing hook. It gathers the preceding utterance and inflects it a certain way, provisionally asserting or performing something about the subject, as in the epidemic of up-talking which can be applied to the most banal utterances, miming a relationality that it cannot fullfil. But the question is a fundamental part of relationship, perhaps the most fundamental part, Where art thou?, in which you are summoned to reveal yourself before any knowledge of what will be revealed. The other draws you to the edge of yourself and to respond is to leap into the unknown. If only the question comes from the other, even from the other within you, but not you, can it move; and maybe it does, but only once or twice in a lifetime when you take yourself by surprise.