“It is a feeling of being self-contained, existing only within the boundaries of oneself, impaled by the horn of my own thoughts, my memories bleeding out, but slowly, the moment stretching to infinity, the clocks of the world now useless, like deflated balloons that have spun around aimlessly for a while and then, sputtering, float lazily to the ground, their mechanical parts now draped over rocks and seashells, this is what death is.”