Sunday, May 01, 2011
Are we many? Or just one?
India ink on Fabriano sketchbook spread pre-stained with Dr. Martin's inks and metallic fabric paint, and pasted with paper bag.
One day he woke up and saw, lying across from him on the patch of morning light, his own twin.
He stared for the longest time, unsure of what he beheld. The double stared back, and after a long moment, opened his mouth as if to speak.
The original, unsure if he was dreaming, waited to see what would happen. Nothing did. As the silence bloomed between them, he began to understand the full strangeness of the matter. He had not suddenly been given a double. No. Somehow, the world had collapsed on itself, bent inward, then extended until the normal rules ceased to apply.
"You are not my twin," he finally said. "You are me."
The double nodded, and then they both stretched out in a luxury of rearrangement. But as the original grew content with his thoughts, and considered returning to his spot behind his own closed eyelids, the double said, "Tomorrow there will be others."