The mask slips, the mirror, ill luck, to be before it look so unwell, the hours spent massaging the ego, tending to the mirror, why do you need clean underwear he asked, what if i am involved in an accident, wouldn’t it be better if you survived, rather than have thoughts of pride, the mirror. No one wants to be uncle scary, no one wants the religious authorities defining what love is, we would all much prefer if they practiced it, it would somehow be more meaningful. He tends to the tasks, feeds the machine, well it keeps him in work, and the future job prospects are superior once you are an insider, the mirror, what everyone else is doing, was it the story of the great dramatist, who got his choice subjects to laugh at themselves, not realizing till later, it was their own mirror they were looking into, so much about mirrors, it seems we look into them everyday. was it a question of judgement, seeing how we look at ourselves believing that was how others viewed us, judging all the time.
The image sighed Solomon, was it the feed we were on, more of ourselves, till there was nothing else, possibly.