fragment 001

I carry a world in the back of my eyes, inhabited by little ghosts. They write stories on mirror-books bigger than them, that I cannot decypher. Seemingly random characters spread unevenly accross the pages.

df          ty j    h
f4      x r   o p    i
f    g   h     upl
t   r        e

All the pages are mirrored one into another.
When they decide to re-organize their library, which happen regularly, I can hear the static-like hum produced by the friction of the books; the glass scrapping against the glass. With much effort, they pull the books [behind them] to put them in the right places. The right places are not the same each time they re-organize the cluster of books.
One time I heard two little ghosts talking about a novel, a masterpiece, apparently. From what I understood, it’s a story about a circular labyrinth made of ruined mirrors. In this labyrinth live strange beings following strict and complex rules that none of the beings know the origin. Still, they follow the rules with diligence and those who are caught breaking the rules are stoned by the others. They said the rules where so complex that there was another entire book that described them all. But that book is lost, and without it, the masterpiece is unintelligible. They still read it, every one of them has read it. It’s mandatory at the school they go. The final test at the school is based on it. They have to reverse-engineer the book of rules from the masterpiece book. No one has ever passed the test successfully. Those who fail at the test are bound to work in the library. A lot of little ghosts work in the library. And that’s why they frequently re-organize the books, they have to keep themselves busy. That’s why I hear this almost constant electrical-like hum. It gets annoying over time. I thought about sending them a letter to let them know of this ever growing annoyance but I do not know the address of the back of my eyes. Do the back of my eyes, or the passage behind my eyes has an address? How could I know?

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