How'd you like to gaze at a beer can throughout eternity? It might not be so bad. There'd be nothing to fear.

Every junkie, he thought, is a recording.

Can we consider the universe real, and if so, in what way?

There is no route out of the maze. The maze shifts as you move through it, because it is alive.

but as he plodded along a vague and almost hallucinatory pall hazed over his mind; he found himself at one point, with no notion of how it could be, a step from an almost certain fatal cliffside fall—falling humiliatingly and helplessly, he thought; on and on, with no one even to witness it. Here there existed no one to record his or anyone else's degradation, and any courage or pride which might manifest itself here at the end would go unmarked: the dead stones, the dust-stricken weeds dry and dying, perceived nothing, recollected nothing, about him or themselves.

He started keeping a journal - had been, in fact, secretly doing so for some time: the furtive act of a deranged person.

The day came. The wrath descended. Sin, guilt, and retribution? The manic psychoses of those entities we referred to as states, institutions, systems - the powers, the thrones, the dominations - the things which perpetually merge with men and emerge from them? Our darkness, externalized and visible? However you look upon these matters, the critical point was reached. The wrath descended.