The Weight of Looking
I am writing this in a basement in Paris, beneath a city that no longer has a sky. The sun is dying, they say. Or perhaps it is not. The truth, as always, is something that human beings have never been able to agree upon, and will never agree upon, because the truth is not a thing that exists outside of us—it is a thing that exists inside us, and inside each of us, it is different. I am a...
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