He fell into the heap of himself

 The fly garden. In the jar of oblivion. And hare of the wind remained like a synthetic mannequin hanging from an invisible fishing line for images. In his fixed immobility he did not look for the mobile hole through which to escape. Image reducer. Thinking mirror reducer. There would be a reducer that was then hung on the doors of the houses. Those who did not find his image upon arrival could not enter because they had no limits to manage in space. He spoke from the voice belonging to the body asking about his image. His absent image did not respond. The walls and the consistency of objects were dissolved. Break out onto its panting surface. That of the present objects. He fell into the heap of himself.