I shared some words today and those words reminded me of something that happened when I was a kid. I recall looking at the back of a cereal packet and seeing one of those infinite pictures. A picture within a picture, if you will, but continually. Like looking in a mirror and there are other mirrors, so from an angle, you are seeing infinite versions of yourself. I never liked them - those pictures or the infinite mirrors or russian dolls. They make me feel uneasy. It's a 'when will it end' emotion. Infinity. Arrrrrgh. OK so the dolls ended. And the tiny baby dolls were cute. But the mirrors and the pictures...
I wish I could occupy the same mental space as Vince Noir. His complete nonchalance when he entered the Mirror World. He was nonplussed at the prospect of forever looking upon his own reflection. Myriad versions of his strange yet somehow beautiful face. Vast angles of his perfect, weird hair. Fortunately for Vince, his ego was as large as his hair halo. My ego, or hair for that matter, isn't quite so expansive.
I'm not aversed to my own reflection but I like to be prepared. It's like when someone gets a camera out and pretty much holds it under your chin, and you think, this isn't going to end well. Cameras are not a buttercups. We are not carrying out some serious 'do you like butter' science here. This is a photo. Aim high with your angles.
Yet this isn't about vanity. It's about the unnerving feeling, that by staring into infinite mirrors, you'll somehow be pulled through the vortex and end up living someone else's life in a parallel universe. Terrifying.
Vortex aside, if ever happen upon Mr Susan, I'll try to embody my inner Vince.
The RGF xxx
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