Notes On Descending - Portraits of a Ghost
It starts upon waking: something about the light, maybe—its hue, its weight—beckons me to climb, and while I’ve become quite proficient at keeping my head above the hole, there’s a sort of allure that draws me down and down. So down and down I go. Throughout the morning I notice—like the slow recognition of a familiar melody drifting from unseen speakers in a café—my surroundings change. This happens in real-time, so it’s difficult to comprehend unless you’ve experienced it yourself. It’s the sudden realization that something feels wrong. Not the kind of wrong that makes you want to turn and run, ...
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