You must also learn, like a Circassian horseman, to change tongues in mid-career without falling to Earth.
You must give the impression of two persuaders, standing each on a different hip--left hip, right hip--with four eyes vacillating concentrically at different angles upon the object chosen for subjugation.
There is nothing so impressive as the number TWO.
You must be a duet in everything.
For, the Individual, the single object, and the isolated, is, you will admit, an absurdity.
Why try and give the impression of a consistent and indivisible personality?
You can establish yourself either as a Machine of two similar fraternal surfaces overlapping.
Or, more sentimentally, you may postulate the relation of object and its shadow for your two selves.
There is Yourself: and there is the Exterior World, that fat mass you browse on.
You knead it into an amorphous imitation of yourself inside yourself.
Sometimes you speak through its huskier mouth, sometimes through yours.
Do not confuse yourself with it, or weaken the esoteric lines of fine original being.
Do not marry it, either, to a maiden.
Any machine then you like: but become mechanical by fundamental dual repetition.
For the sake of your good looks you must become a machine.
Hurry up and get into this harmonious and sane duality.
The thought of the old Body-and-Soul, Male-and-Female, Eternal Duet of Existence, can perhaps be of help to you, if you hesitate still to invent yourself properly.
No clear cut lines, except on condition of being dual and prolonged.
You must catch the clearness and logic in the midst of contradictions: not settle down and snooze on an acquired, easily possessed and mastered, satisfying shape.
We artists do not provide wives for you.
You have too many as it is.