Serial Library passage May 13

13 May

I’d peek at myself sometimes, look down and try to see who I was, but there was almost no way of doing this. I tried to be the other, the one who looked upon me with utter disinterest, the godlike other who loved me the way a predator loves its prey. I tried to love myself carnally in a way that separated me from the moments I lived and gave me something like a super eight movie, with the frames too slow to simulate realistic motion. I felt famished all the time, and held myself aloft in the slow sinking depths of my underlying structure.


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