It is extraordinarily put together this machinery of balanced springs and interlocks that maintains the functioning subject in its folding unfolding life adventure. And if you are the one trying to get around it then you are just one more of its means of reciprocal consolidation, and if not then all the more. Reading, writing, knowingly throwing out nonsensical phrases for the sake of the noise they make, to set the whole contraption vibrating, to provoke its absurdity, its resonant mismeasure to the task in hand. And what is this adventure that someone is to believe is being undergone, the going, the under, the mirror inversions, the time, the eros, the erosion? From the time you started out to now, was it any time, and did you build the machine or are you dismantling it piece by piece? The machine undoes itself, loosening the springs, delicately ejecting the cogs and ratchets, hand over hand, uncrossing the gulf that was never there. Battering the dream to shake free the dreamer from his dream of dreaming.