discontent

 . . . to expel the notion that there exists some ordered, static whole, toward which all experience hints of This thing or That, may well occur as enlightenment to one and obstruction to another . . . mine is the harassing condition of admiring this duplicity as though were a many-colored light, split by the mirror, reassembled at the turnstile of my mind. My individual madness, if it can be said to be as much, is the terrible prescience of a long letter read, an emptied plate; to learn that all these truths have run their race; that forward and reverse have ultimately settled, after all these tightly folded and unfolded inquiries, into one another's place.