Is the sleeping half-life of a drowsy poet the same as that of an avatar? Once the sonic conundrum of a tree falling in a forest was the acid text of the relationship between knowledge and perception. How do you know it fell if you do not hear it? The figure of the avatar is the cipher of our contemporary malaise to do with reality and its facsimiles. What then happens when we write in a dream? Is that text a copy or an original? Inspiration, accident and happenstance are perhaps other names for the avatar, and, for that matter, the creative act as well. Aren't they
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