Looking back over his life, X tells me, he’s horrified. All this time he’s been secretly thinking how clever he was without realising how stupid he really is. It’s amazing how little he knows about himself, he says. Even now I might be thinking how clever I am for realising how stupid I am without knowing it, he says. Tomorrow I might look back on this moment with horror, he says. In fact I already do. I think I’m being humble when I’m just laying the ground for more humiliation. No one should think, he says, we should just take on the colours of the world and disappear against the backdrop like chameleons. Thinking is a curse, he says. But maybe he just needs to get laid, he says.
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
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