Symbolism In Ernest Hemingway's Riding The Moth

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Riding the moth which I elaborated, spreading the wings of a wandering mind; the time arrived with a present task, traversing the dialogue which the twin mural marmots carried. The women whom I studied and denied expelling from my burgeoning soul passed their night inside my jar; their varicoloured coats brushed its transparent and brittle surface. When the writer withholds a moving minute, nonetheless, his vision holds a picture made with patches of varying hues. The woman of our interminable love and demise fights with her claws this life that slides against its safe glass. Meanwhile, this scribbler of incipient reveries remembers his gyroscope; which their mother regaled him on his sixth birthday; this friend finds his mental strength
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