I guess this is meta. If you’re a computer programmer, you would instead say it’s recursive. But here’s the story: When I was just out of college and back in my middling small hometown, there was a fellow I would see sitting at a table reading in the library who was the EXACT image of James Joyce in one of the famous photographs, with the round tortoise shell glasses. Not “close,” not “it reminds me of,” but the master himself, returned.
One day, he left for a bit, probably to take a revelatory piss while still considering that single day in Dublin, so, I did it! I went over to see what he was reading.
Now I know about Joyce’s secret love for pulp detective fiction.
But, then, I have my foibles, too.