There is the raw self evidence of the play on words

There is the raw self evidence of the play on words

WHAT I WILL BE SAYING about A Dream Play is not necessarily like we've seen it in this case, 1 but as I've thought about it before, throughout the mind's eye, having some regret that, while I'd long been lured to stage it, for one reason or other—perhaps the preventing prospect—I never ever came in order to do it. That that is getting consideration presently, and certainly not solely right here, may be telling all of us something, nonetheless as using their Swedenborgian intimations, triplex ensemble, occulted symbols, often the “round bored holes and even a clover leaf throughout the door, ”2 typically the visual warp with the shown refractions or, using a number of shifts and reversals connected with eye-sight, recessions associated with appearance in a sort associated with video camera obscura—the dark photo of any cloud muting the dim picture of a good tower—we may not be sure what it is usually. Or even, maybe, appallingly, merely as well sure, so much so that at some free psychic question level we could wish we didn't know, similar to the Quarantine Master within the Dire Straits who would like he could forget (238). Of course, if, for Strindberg, exactly what there were to be recognized came in several gauge from the vicissitudes on the unconscious, with the libidinal content material transformed into phallic aconites plus vulvous grottos, or the body organ turning out to be Fingal's Cave, there is definitely also the raw self-evidence, the banality, brutality, inequit