I see them everywhere - these moons that watch me from front-row seats at the theater of "I". They bear my face; most importantly they bear my eyes. I know. I see how they watch from within. Opening nights, rehearsals, on the road; they never miss a show, always there to sneer and clap, because it's on every day and every night.
And still, I can't help but scour the crowd every time. I part the curtain "Have they come to see the latest show? Is that how I look from behind?" In front of the mirror before the first act, I try on different shapes hoping for my golden prize - "You nailed it!", but instead always get second place. You'd think it impossible to lose so many one-person rounds of "I Spy".
What if I try something new? That's not how it works; the same moons always get the same show. They raise the shapes out of the flesh. Replaced by other moons, same new eyes, new flesh in new shapes. And so, I get dressed. It's fun and a free costume change. I don't know if I look like myself, but they are a one-size-fits-all.
Now you can see, be the omnipresent gaze. A succession of painted stages, stories of panopticon mirrors provoking a maelstrom of flesh, bodies bent and doubled, faces with unfamiliar features, yet all unmistakably mine, unsettlingly me.
Enjoy the show. Consider that when you sit before a stage of continuous spectacle, form manifests itself in one way or another depending on when and who you arrive. It is impossible to claim recognition; no form repeats itself twice. Nor can you forget that even if you stand up and leave, the show will go on.