We were laughing, but at you. You were laughing, but you were alone in your laughter, on the other side of our laughter. We were on one side, laughing, and you were on the other, similarly laughing. But everything depends upon where you are when you laugh.
We were watching you as we'd always watched you. And you – you'd seen yourself for the first time. And what had you seen? What we had always seen. What we had been watching for some time. And now you'd seen it. Now you wanted to join the club – the laughing club.
But do you really think you could laugh at yourself the way we laughed at you? Did you think you could join our side? You're alone, that's the truth, and how long can you laugh? Alone – laughing in your cage, your box. Laughing in the cell of your stupidity. And listening to your laughter echo. And listening to your laughter die away.
In the end, we don't envy you. In the end, you should never have found out. You should have believed your own lies, your alibis. And now you know? And now it's become clear? But nothing is clear. A scorpion can't sting itself. A tarantula is immune to its own poison. And the actor cannot be his own audience – not right there, not immediately.
Then who are you? Who are you now? Caught between yourself and yourself. Lost between two facing mirrors, and that's the curse, isn't? You have to live on, don't you? You've survived your collapse, when you were only collapse. So what are you now?
Lars Iyer's Blog 