On the train to Bristol, the clouds are rolling and heavy.  A dark gray low over the muted browns and greens.  I stare through the window through my left eye, looking through my own reflection until the doubled ghosts meet and become more solid.  In front of me, hovering alone over the landscape, are two sullen eyes staring straight back.  I think of the projected eye in Boorman’s silly film Zardoz, or how in one Talking Heads video a large, blinking eye is projected onto the side of a suburban house.  My two left eyes seem dull, unnaturally still but with an imposing presence in their corporeal appearance.  I quickly shake my head and let the illusion pass.