ABSTRACT
In our endless quest for the other, unrewarding so far in itself but valuable in its by-products, the quarry still escapes, twisting, turning, finally, disconcertingly, backwards into ourselves. At which point, having lost the real other, we turn to trivial pursuits examining ever more minute aspects, ever more intricately excavated and creatively imagined interior structures and processes of our own behaviour wrung out in studying the now departed other.
