A subtraction

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.


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