Holly Willoughby Faked

Jorge Etcheverry

No pool of water or liquid or reflecting metal was enough to give me my image never fully. So at the dawn of my existence, now ours, and after a brief period of introspection that my records do not record or not our own, I worked on two tasks. Each day the sun returned me with the precious sense of sight the world and my reflexes. But there was the night that erased images and closes the eyelids. Then I discovered in the dream that the reflecting surfaces either natural or fruit of our labor are not unique. Whether dreams are filled with images, as we pass the most of us. Or disembodied words. Or a combination of both, but my own head, the brain itself that is enclosed within the walls of the skull is a world of mirrors. The exercise of writing has given me new pleasures circulars. My image comes to meet me from calligraphy and typography. My strength. At some moment of our existence-multiple long and yet always equal to itself, I thought I was wrong creation of a god or a god in his image and likeness. And not even two centuries ago a bearded man in Germany turned things upside down and told me they were more like my product and my reflection. And now I dream of the gods the welcome, building them temples, describe in words or concretion going to give them all the materials, all techniques. I intend to venerate. But deep down we all know that they are the ones that reflect us. We returned to our own image. Now we got a sigh of relief every morning after dreaming dreams cosmogonic or very particularized. With the pleasure of recognition in the mirror in the bathroom brushing my teeth, I shave, comb my hair carefully, I saw a harmony bordering on what the French called affectation and then we rushed through the streets of our growing megalopolis more crystalline, in which windows, revolving doors and thousands of surfaces shiny and smooth me back again and again our own image.
We affirm that we already worshiped in the times of Altamira and Lascaux. But only now, in recent centuries, and with many problems, coming and going, we are beginning to contemplate a little reflective distance "Are we in some way those birds fluttering up there? - Or singing in the dawn, awake to the world, our home and reflection? - Are we embedded ourselves since we opened this flower is fleshy and gray inside the skull?. The animals whose morphology and signs share only come to the trough for drinking water, untouched and innocent at his image that presents itself from the world reverse the water. But not us who come to the same cabinet meeting since we talked about earlier. Let's look at the starry spaces and busquémonos order to incorporate the cosmos as a finishing touch to this endless entertainment of mirrors.