I come across my notebook from last summer. It’s mostly empty. There are notes here and there on random pages, written in pubs:
In the mirror the duplicitous face, looking at itself.
Frightening thought: that you’re an imposter who doesn’t know the extent of his own imposture. That there’s an infinite world between you and the world.
A sudden plunge. Sinkholes of time.
To hear your words come out of your mouth, miles away. Mouthing lies.
Absent God –
You drank to hide your face from the day. From God. You thought of yourself as a subtraction from the world, a photographic negative. This was how you talked to yourself.