silhouettes 
What prints on the surface of reality is just the trace of erasure next, perhaps. When intercepting its light at the precise moment given by chance, get rid of what we see, fix the term of the framework here, right now. These faceless types, as in the dream, which run in the stillness, those guys who spend an imminent erasure. We could hardly walk around their silhouette. One could hardly know they are going to me, if they stray. It captures only the fingerprint. And the footprint is enough for me tonight to fix ghosts of my own weakness, then I'm going to (Tonight), it far enough I digress.
"without intent Draw, scribble mechanically, it almost always appears on the paper faces. Leading a life excessive facial, it is also in a perpetual fever of faces. As soon as I take a pencil, paintbrush, he'll come on paper, one after the other, ten, fifteen, twenty. And most wild. Is it me all these faces? What are others? What funds come from? Would it not simply the consciousness of my own head thinking? (Grins a second face, as well as the adult man who suffers stopped crying shame by in misfortune to be suffering more in the background, so he would have stopped grinning to become more inwardly grimacing.) Behind the featured face motionless, abandoned and become mere mask, another bubbly face superiorly Mobile , contracts, simmering in an unbearable climax. Behind the lines fixed, desperately seeking a way out, expressions like a bunch of dogs howling ... "
Michaux
The inner space
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