This seems to be one more face to Narcissus’ curse: to become lost in reflection, to be paralytically twisted by the absorbed rumination on one’s place in the world. Those times when we dwell too long at contemplation and see it refract into a despairing contempt. A curse, a blessing, a responsibility: Paradise exchanged at a loss.
Again: What is the Omphalos? A quartet of titanic tourists standing together by Out of Town News, pointing, gawking, and trying to get their bearings. An abstract foreigner in Cubist fashion, exchanging somber stares across the street with Sumner.