An old oak pew stands, solitary in the darkness, positioned between two clouded mirrors, half reflecting, half obscuring the shape before them. Two candles burn, spilling sapphire across the scene, illuminating, just barely, the opposing panes, causing an endless reflection, the image thrown wildly in all directions, its pocks and scars seen from all angles, kaleidoscopic, infinite, image upon image overlaid, fragmented, deconstructed, stretched, torn to pieces, reformed.  Do you know this place? This no-place, boundless, beneath the eyes? How many times have you found yourself there, creeping slowly toward it, seduced by its madness, compelled to gaze upon it, that frightful ecstasy from which you’re compelled to tear yourself away? For if you gaze too long.... Listen–the lonely hassock creaks and falls, beckons you to kneel, as the organ sighs, striking up a tune. The breviary, leather bound, creased and worn, waits for you: Looking Glass Hymnal Blue.