The Objecthood of the Self, 2002

I strip down to nothing. My body bare and sleek, perforating the space around me through performative gestures. I gaze at the mirror before me. I see myself reflected through smooth glass. I want to be that person in the mirror, to consume and consecrate his bare body with erotic enticement. I touch him. My fingers feel the cold touch of glass, and know that there is a warmth penetrating underneath from the other side. I trace the curve of his body, finger on finger, touching reflected skin fragments. He sees me stare at him, an informed nudity. Our presence is sealed in the personal spheres of knowing, of gazing. In this place, space becomes infinite, almost transcendent. I am allowed to gaze, to watch him mirrored and reflected again through adjacent mirrors. One by one a vast landscape of the body forms, each gesture I make, an infinite mimetic response. I imagine the space of our actions transposed in time as they take on distinct forms. I can see them see me, almost feel them see me. Everything I know is entwined in these gazes, piercing my body like a thousand little pins. Dissecting my every waking movement, my every breath and word. I imagine they must think me weird like this, as I do seeing them. I close my eyes and space seems to darken for a brief moment. I am gone, invisible, dead. Without my body, I become a floating clause, a moment of pure social and cultural construction. I become brief. Lost when there is no longer anything to compare with. When there is nothing for me to compare with. I emerge from the multitude of faces as a portraiture of the moment, as a portrait of everything I see, hear, feel, and touch. Through singularity there is only me, unable to be defined or understood. The fluorescent lights illuminate the shape of my body. Here I am.


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