Abstract

"Lies never happen." Yet we find ourselves facing, still, the question of truth. We face transfixed for millennia an unsetting sun, our necks twisted askew in a blinding gaze. Or is it rather, that this question, a question too great for thought and time, has not yet even unfolded? Or again, are we not perhaps caught in a more modest predicament, suspended between the two hyperboles, neither here nor there with regard (a gaze and guard at once) to truth, in a space of shadows, a space neither of darkness, nor of the high noon. What is the true difference, what is the meaning, of these errant paths?