The honest, age-old terror of losing one’s income, exhausting meager savings, becoming destitute, going insane. The thin skin holding things together breaks and it all comes spilling out, the miracles of life along with vulgar, filthy, toxic, stinky shit. Facing an inevitable end of misery and shame, alive among the dead, wanting something more than pain.

The horror overwhelms, and the best thing, the only thing, is to look outward, find distraction, or fall into the luxury of masturbatory solipsism, the reality that one can feel good when surrendering to a dream.