A bloodshot eyeball searches a room, hunts for a syntax adequate to a life lived allegorically. Kaleidoscope eyes. Orange and green fractals give entry to imaginary worlds, formless infinities. I stare down at myself teaching my various classes, picking up fallen popcorn, turning on an out-of-reach light-switch. Not only have we never been modern, we’ve never stopped living in caves, wondering about phenomenology, hoping to find in books hidden tools for conviviality.