And then there is the portal 
  at the bottom of the page, 
  which may or may not lead 
  to the portal at the top of 
  any other page. And then 
  there is the portal at the 
  bottom of the page, which 
  may or may not lead to the 
  portal at the top of another 
  page. 

  In short, the portal is one 
  life to another, our own and 
  others', our own others and 
  others' others, so that we 
  read ourselves and others, 
  writing ourselves. When 
  Lisa Robertson became The 
  Office of Soft Architecture 
  she added to our structure, 
  giving us another surface. It 
  was like that for Erin 
  Moure, who gave herself 
  another name through 
  translation, another portal, 
  and gave us other selves. It 
  was like that for Pessoa and 
  Rimbaud but it was not the 
  same. It was like that when 
  we brought things from 
  other languages, in which 
  we brought our selves. It 
  was like that for Scardanelli. 
  We are singing together and
  

  so are they singing together, 
  for we and they are 
  together, and we do not 
  know where they leave off. 
  For we do not know 
  ourselves, we say, and they 
  are right.  

  There is the feeling of 
  being the theater. Nonetheless 
  you are disoriented upon 
  walking outside into 
  whatever light is left, after 
  the projector was the basis 
  for your reality, shared as it 
  was with others in the 
  theater. Only, for once we 
  knew from where the light 
  of being emanated! No, but 
  it was not only once, for we
  have been to this theater 
  before, or some other, and 
  the sun hangs over our days 
  and casts itself off the 
  mirror of the night. And we 
  take ourselves outside, 
  or appear to emerge from the 
  theater of ourselves, when 
  we may not in fact step out 
  of who we are, except that 
  we are no longer who we 
  were, even a moment ago. 
  And the very minute we 
  notice something has 
  

  changed, we lose ourselves 
  except in recollection. And 
  who are we to complain? 

  So we've seen this one 
  before, but there are parts 
  we don't recall. Was that 
  detail always there, and who 
  might we verify, or with 
  whom, that is, might we 
  compare scenes? It's 
  as though we really were there 
  all along! And not just 
  because we told you so. The 
  comedian has heard all her 
  jokes before, though she is 
  not the first to laugh.

  And what of our parade of 
  portals leading each to each, 
  a mirror faced with another 
  mirror with a little door in 
  one corner. We are ever 
  opening that door, or 
  getting ready to. For we are 
  ever on the way to our next 
  scene. And are directionless, 
  except for the angle of the 
  apparatus, which hits our 
  back, casting us forward, or 
  that way, anyway. Yes of 
  course we told you so. You 
  do you, we say.