the black mirror of the great well, is my own face watching me watching it. I’m like a playing card that belongs to some ancient and unknown suit, the only remnant of a lost pack. I have no meaning, I do not know my value, I have nothing to compare myself with in order to find myself, I have no purpose in life by which to know myself. And thus, in the successive images I use to describe myself — not untruthful but not truthful either — I become more image than me,
