Having my way with Ulysses

Mirror there.

At times in the evenings a face looks at us out of the depths of a mirror; Art should be like that mirror Which reveals to us our own face. They say that Ulysses, sated with marvels, Wept tears of love at the sight of his Ithaca, Green and humble. Art is that Ithaca Of green eternity, not of marvels. It is also like the river with no end That flows and remains and is the mirror of one same Inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same And is another, like the river with no end.4:38 pm

Proportio dupla

 

I’m no expert at it, but I’m good at feeling anyone looking at me. I’ll gaze this way. Yes. Gaze far sidewise. I see something thoughtfully just there, past the wall. Look at how deep thinking I am, mouth slightly parted, longing eyes. Not sure which is my best side. Move slowly, with the music just a little closer, almost there. Yes. Mirror. Now both sides are facing, yet I present the unapproachable profile. Irresistable. I feel you in the air. The weight of your gaze resonates according to your distance from my profile. Perfect. I’m busy looking far out this way, so you can busy yourself looking at me. Watch me breathe. Deep breathing from the chest. In through the nose, out through the slightly parted mouth. Makes my lips pucker just enough, fills out that bottom one. You are still looking. I can tell. I’m still gazing over there but farther now. I’m gazing into a distance so far so far. I gaze erotically into the other side of the world. Longingly. Soulfully. I’m not your average run of the mill. Not in the same way that Cowley isn’t a priest. More like how the guy in the song isn’t a priest. But don’t think about that. Just gazing soulfully next to the mirror so you can gaze openly. Take your time. I can do this as long as it takes.