A duality. When I was first escaping the homestead, doing professional theatre in the summers, I was in rural Kentucky for several years. At the time, the only way of getting the national papers from New York was driving to the neighboring town and putting in an order at the tobacconist's. Issues fresh from the airport would show up soon afterwards, the Times having been put on a plane after being printed in midtown. (The new presses are one landmark that you pass when going from the city to LGA.) And that was a lifeline, in a way, keeping me from attuning myself to the local mind, keeping free. On the other hand, it is very dangerous to want to think as the powerful folks think, to say things that they would find acceptable, to, in short, have my being as one within that world. The talisman of foreign vocabularies, if it is to be a talisman and not an enchanted mirror, is is not an object of identification, but of strangeness.
Strange dreams of mirrored images, and strength. Armaturum Dei.