It’s ended, X tells me, it’s all finished, once again. It’s swallowed me up, covered me with soil, I’m done, he says. This is it, the third act, when the gun comes out, it’s the tragic denouement, every time I wake up. How do people figure out how to live, where do they get the energy? But of course you wouldn’t know, 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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