There is also the raw self proof of the play on words

There is also the raw self proof of the play on words

WHAT My partner and i WILL BE TELLING about A Goal Play is not necessarily since we've seen it in this article, 1 but as We've pondered it before, in the mind's eye, having some regret that will, although I'd long been tempted to stage it, for some reason or other—perhaps the forbidding prospect—I in no way came to be able to do that. That that is getting interest now, and certainly not solely below, may be telling you something, although as using their Swedenborgian intimations, triplex naturel, occulted symbols, typically the “round bored holes plus a clover leaf inside the doorway, ”2 this visual warp in the shown refractions or, having certain shifts and reversals connected with perspective, recessions associated with visual appeal in a sort of video camera obscura—the dark graphic of the cloud muting the particular shadowy picture of a tower—we may not turn out to be sure what it is usually. As well as, maybe, appallingly, simply way too sure, so very much so that at some clairvoyant level we might would like we didn't recognize, just like the Quarantine Master in the Dire Straits who wants he could forget (238). And if, for Strindberg, exactly what there was to be known came in a few gauge from the vicissitudes on the unconscious, with the libidinal content transformed into phallic aconites and vulvous grottos, or a good appendage becoming Fingal's Cave, there can be also the raw self-evidence, the banality, violence, inequitably unchangeable, implacable state of things