HOUSE OF MIRRORS Some thoughts on existentialism PHOEBE LOW
ho do you ask? Locked in a room of mirrors. Every image, every reďŹ‚ection stares into your eyes, knowing, wise. They whisper: you are an accident you are alone God is dead collective existence could do without you Want to be a doctor? Heal the sick? Thousands would take your place, who are in fact crawling over each other reaching, reaching for that letter, who would gladly claw your eyes out with their need, let it be me not them creating their own existence, never mind yours, but itâ€™s a zero sum game.