I have some new ideas for content but rather than post those, I will give you something I was re-reading. Because complacency trumps inspiration. I wrote this 2 years ago. Its ambiguity might be disconcerting, but I wonder if it is still understandable.
Investigation of Imitation
I regret to say that my findings are not as I expected. This and every dwelling I searched contains an item that they must consider to be a mandatory element. What it is I cannot be sure, but I will relay my discoveries as thoroughly as my understanding allows. My observations show that it comes in several sizes. There are those that can be held with ease and those which are fixed, meant to be set in place. Its purpose is one of information; it reveals and imparts. It is a constituent of adornment often fastened to the boundary markers between the compartments in a residence.
Unlike the ancestor, memories, and still life hung alongside, this captured moment is not limited, it moves and imitates. Its images are like a settled water glimpse. I look and see an infinite self back through my eyes. It captures more than the ephemeral, it continuously dictates the current. A locked window that cannot be opened, it shows me a companion, a perfect match though cold and unreachable. The ultimate copy, the imitator has my clothes, my organic self. I sense the mimic but cannot empathize. I recognize but cannot feel. It models my peaceful countenance then echoes my conspicuous fear. It can only feel as I feel, not the reverse. It maintains flawless synchronicity with my investigation.
My companion waits for my initiation of action. When I speak, it does as well. I cannot understand its words, however, for the ones that I convey overpower. I cannot help but think it only seeks to impress, for its personality simply matches my own. It is severely focused; I cannot keep my eyes open long enough to find it blink. As long as I gaze, its stare does not waver. I did not know I could find such a connection here, a similar mind and body, though distant and less physical. It is as if it is awaiting manifestation. Every one of my acts is reacted to without delay, but it knows no originality.
Behind the imitator I see the room, the same as where I stand though opposite. The objects to my left are at my copy’s right. It is the same world I explore, but everything is shifted into a mode of reverse. I would have proceeded to move forward and enter the opposing room revealed, but an invisible barrier prevents me from going inside. My imitator wants to enter my side of the obstruction with equal curiosity but we are simultaneously denied. I want to go through this window, this door, but I am blocked from experiencing what is and can only see what is. I wonder whether it is me or the imitator who is held captive behind the blockade.
I want to look further into this scene. More than look, I want to inspect. I am questioning whether it is me or the imitator who is the original. What are these moving images for? Should I be viewing or reviewing? I cannot determine whether I am looking into or at something.
I think the imitator should be more responsive. Is this where camaraderie is expected to be found? A companion is one who gives and takes; one who acts rather than simply reacts. How can I be expected to involve myself when interactions are only responses?
What is the purpose of such a device? I cannot determine its necessity in every dwelling. It is an entity which cannot be expected to be simply glanced upon for aesthetic value or to invoke a memory. It demands a response; it forces the viewer to become aware of self.
I cannot say with absolute assurance that this discovery has been helpful in deciphering this world’s psyche. They may use these machines as pleasing images. I see them as a vain mockery of what exists. There is an entire unexamined world behind that impenetrable barrier that each side wants to break through. I want to look forward into this world shown to me by the imitator, but am left to only look back at where I stand. The world presented in these images is one that lacks tangible physicality, left simply to representation. This lack of sensation leaves me unaffected and hardened to the sentiment I could share with my imitator. Though this shows me an animated version of another place, it is merely a reflection of what is and does not warrant my attention for further investigation.
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In other news: I miss the time when I found myself more fluent with words
