If he could pinpoint it once and for all, X tells me, then he could move on. If he could find Archimedes’ point, or the Kaballists’ primordial point, or just believe in it, that might be enough to move on, he says. If he could find the lever, he says, or the central point, no, the centre from outside the centre, no, the lever from outside the centre to tip the centre to see what’s under it, no, the central point on which to balance the lever, no, the point from which to observe everything from outside everything, wasn’t that what it was about, the point where the observer doesn’t affect the observed, who was that, he says, Humboldt or Heisenbert, Humbert Humbert, no obviously not, what does he know, he says. Maybe the centre’s everywhere, he says, it occurs to him he read that somewhere. If there’s a central point I guess we’re all all being born from it all the time, he says, like the sperm eternally piercing the egg, and everything’s the moment when the sperm pierces the egg, or maybe everything’s the egg, or the sperm, he’s not sure. Or is it you? he says.
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
- Follow Notes from a Room on WordPress.com