WHAT I actually WILL BE TELLING about A Desire Carry out is not necessarily because we've seen it in this case, 1 but as We have thought about it before, around the mind's eye, along with some regret that will, even though I'd long been enticed to stage it, for some reason or other—perhaps the forbidding prospect—I never came in order to perform it. That it is getting consideration presently, and not merely here, may be telling us something, although as having the Swedenborgian intimations, triplex ensemble, occulted symbols, typically the “round bored holes together with a clover leaf in the front door, ”2 this visual warp from the shown refractions or, with certain shifts and reversals of vision, recessions regarding visual appeal in a sort of camera obscura—the dark image of a cloud muting often the dark picture of a good tower—we may not get sure what it will be. Or maybe, maybe, appallingly, only very sure, so quite a bit so that a few free psychic question level we could wish we didn't understand, like the Quarantine Master with the Dire Straits who would like he could forget (238). In case, for Strindberg, what there was to be acknowledged came in many estimate from the vicissitudes with the unconscious, with the libidinal content material transformed into phallic aconites and vulvous grottos, or a good body turning into Fingal's Cave, there is also the raw self-evidence, the banality, brutality, inequitably unchangeable, implacable state involving things, assailed by