Even if you are not separate from the world experiencing it as from a remove the idea persists that you could find a boundary, at least locally in any given direction, separating you from your milieu. This idea has a certain convenience for integrating the discourses that make up an increasing fraction of daily life, but it fails under closer scrutiny. You concede then that where the boundary was thought to be there is something more like a gaping wound by which you are fused with your world, a mutual contamination. But this is to stop too short, the edges of the wound recede into the distance and dissolve in a no longer flat space without and limits, only anamorphoses, strange compressions and concentrations, and singular points which expand and then vanish as you approach them. You are the world more strange.