every interpretation of realit●y is based upon a unique position.▓ Two paces east or west and the whole pictu●re is changed.’ Somethingo.A▓ sing
y — you would have though▓t them easily disposed of in a▓ single book, would you not ●So would I, so did I.Dispersed now b▓y time and circumstance, the circuit ▓broken forever….I had set myse●lf the task of trying to rec●over
them in words, reinstate ▓them in memory, allot to each h●is and her position in my time.Selfi▓shly.And with that writing complete, I f▓elt that I had turned a key upon the ▓doll’s house of our actions.Indeed, I sa▓w my lovers and friends no longer as living peop●l-rooms of memory!
e but as coloured transfers of the mind; i▓nhabiting my papers now, no longer● the city, like tapestry figures.It ▓was difficult to concede to them a▓ny more common reality than to th▓e words I had used about them●.What has recalled me to myself But in o
rder▓ to go on, it is necessary to go back:● not that anything I wrote about the●m is untrue, far from it.Yet w●hen I wrote, the full facts were not a●You will t●hink
t my disposal.The picture I drew was▓ a provisional one — like the pictur●e of a lost civilization deduced from a few frag●mented vases, an inscribed taI am in dulging
blet, an ●amulet, some human bones, a gold● smiling death-mask.***** ‘▓We live’ writes Pursewarden somewhere ‘●lives based upon selected fict●ions.Our view of reality is condit
ioned● by our position in space and time▓ — not by our personalities as we like t▓o think.Thusmyself.It is not s