The enclave is a dynamic entity. It is defined by the finite within the infinite—by its boundary, and by everything that lies beyond it. It draws a line around itself, expelling all that does not belong. Its content negates the other, yet just as much, it negates its own autonomy—for its very definition arises only through its relationship to that which is outside it.

An enclave cannot exist as an isolated entity, standing entirely on its own. To perceive or understand it, one must always step beyond it—a continual motion toward the other, inseparable from its interior. The enclave is one, no less than it is two.

This sensation of the enclave is like endless drops of oil suspended in the murkiest depths of water—a constant contamination born of impotent borderkeeping. It is the greatest possible distance conceived as a membrane, a curvature of strangeness folding inward into containers of familiarity. The enclave is a sensation of blending and leakage, yet with persistence of form—like thousands of tiny mechanisms sustaining miniature societies, populations crisscrossing longitudinal lines along shared sidewalks, with eyes attempting to lock forward.

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