ยท
If we are indeed doomed to the comically convergent task of dismantling the universe, and fabricating from its stuff an artifact called The Universe, it is reasonable to suppose that such an artifact will resemble the vaults of an endless film archive built to house, in eternal cold storage, the infinite film.
“Man’s love follows many faces,
My love only one face knoweth;
Towards thee only my love floweth,
And outstrips the swift stream’s paces.
Were this love well here displayed,
As flame flameth ‘neath thin jade
Love should glow through these my phrases.”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: To Be Sung Beneath a Window”