The Gaze
That which is light looks at me, and by means of that light in the depths of my eye, something is painted.
The gaze contains a curse & a gift, it turns us into an object yet confirms that we exist.
The vision of the other can either become a prison, a figment of our imagination, or the one & only means of escape:
take your pick, because either way it's not what you think;
the light decides between a painting or a stain, between pleasure or pain…
everywhere & nowhere but always outside, it will eat us alive from the inside: a black hole into which we sink as comprehending apperception & thoughts of what the others think, twist the thread again & again…
…until the light fights back,
& unties the knots:
there is not (yet)
an answer, only the fantasy of two dancers moving slowly then faster, both tragic & absurd, as an audience laughs & cries as they turn.