We peep out, but what do we see, really? Mirror reflections of our own selves, our bloodless, feeble countenances, devoted to nothing in particular, insofar as I can fathom it. Death is very close, he thought. When you think in this manner. I can feel it, he decided. How near I am. Nothing is killing me; I have no enemy, no antagonist; I am merely expiring, like a magazine subscription: month by month.
The narrator contemplates the nature of existence, expressing a sense of disillusionment and introspection. He feels that the reflections he sees are merely representations of himself, revealing a lack of purpose and vitality. This self-examination leads to a realization of life's fleeting nature, as he feels death looming ever closer.
As he reflects on his mortality, he recognizes that he is not facing an enemy or a direct threat, but rather a gradual fading away, akin to the slow cancellation of a subscription. This metaphor underscores a profound sense of resignation to the inevitability of life’s end, highlighting the quiet despair of existence without a defining purpose.
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All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
Race of Cain, ascend to heaven, And cast God down upon the earth!
