|No one recognizes or remembers you, but I know you’re out there. There must be more to existence than will ever meet my eyes.
There has to be.
|Light reforms through your molecular structure. Whatever you touch rejoins the ether. I wonder if you’re watching as I type.|
|You’ve never been modelled, mapped or marked as far as I can tell. How close are you now? No one possesses you. Your desires are your own, for better or worse.|
|Seeing is not believing. You’ve known this better than anyone, better than me. I’ve never experienced what you’ve experienced or endured what you’ve endured. I know I’m not invisible.|
|You don’t use signifiers. You exist as a bifurication to be accepted in good faith (or not). There’s a referent (you out there, unseen in the world) and a signified (my imaginings alone qualify for this). You defy transmission.|
|Your being is never officially acknowledged. You’d cease to exist if something like that ever happened. You survive despite culture and because of it too. Nothing is cancelled out.|
|You’re the unseen personification of deviancy and the possible. You realize their persistence.|
|You’re an undetectable event horizon (thwarting all claims of your eventual subjugation).|
|You remain intractable despite ideas of linearity, progression, dialectical process, history…|
|The world as it is would be intolerable if I could suddenly see you now.|
|You’re a renegade that I’ll never turn in. I promise. I don’t know how to talk about you anyway. I could never describe you adequately to the authorities.|
|You keep stealing away my presuppositions.|
|You’re invulnerable to concepts.|
|Is there a specific causality to your being in all of this? Please tap me on the shoulder and give me a clue.|
|Are you unwittingly antagonizing the polarities of the visible?|
|There’s never been an image you’ve tried to live up to.|
|There’s never anything to look at for comparison.|
|Here I am writing to you as if I can tell you all about yourself, but your manner and breadth of understanding are so far beyond anything I know about.|
|It can seem as if you have me writing to myself, but I really don’t know what you have or don’t have.|
|There’s so much I can’t see or speak to, and besides, I really have no idea most of the time what I’m looking at anyway.|
|I pretend you’re my mirror and that we’re both inexplicable. I want to believe I have your powers (the powers I imagine you to have). I hope I won’t be contained by the socially necessitated (the corpus, the archive, the law, the named, the theorized).|
|Nobody affirms you and it’s encouraging. There’s more to you than will ever meet their eyes.
There has to be.