guess now’s as good a point as any to acknowledge our collective debt to Jorge Luis Borges.
The Unknown could not exist without him. We’re all still following the paths laid through his many Labyrinths.
This, then, is the visible work of Menard, in chronological order (with no omission other than a few vague sonnets of circumstance written for the hospitable, or avid, album of Madame Henri Bachelier). I turn now to his other work: the subterranean, the interminably heroic, the peerless. And—such are the capacities of man!—the unfinished!—
—Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote
at Mike’s House
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