Where death is, you are not, says Epicetus. Where I am, I should not be, that's the truth of it, W. says. Do I understand, really understand, the reality of my situation?, W. says. Of course not; it would be quite impossible. I'm not really aware of myself, says W., which is my saving grace. Because if I was …
It's enough that W. knows. It's enough that he's aware of the reality of my situation. He tells other people about it, but they scarcely believe him. They have to blot it out. Screen memories replace real ones. When he tells them about me, about the reality of my situation, they recall only owls with spread wings swooping through the night.
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