ity, a mere myth covering up reality’s truth that “no miracle comes forth, no microscopic vestige even of relief. Only ideas, pale, attenuated ideas which have to be fattened by slaughter; ideas which come forth like bile, like the guts of a pig when the carcass is ripped open” (Miller 101). The narrator himself is not so remiss to look reality squarely in the eyes and call it shit, literally. As he says, “there is nothing more, and nothing less, than two enormous lumps of shit” (Miller 101). Miller’s narrator contends that this is a miraculous thought because it is easily imagined but seldom thought, seldom thought because it would cast most souls into despair to face reality for what it is and even more importantly for what it means they are.
However, Miller’s narrator is liberated by such thoughts and the courage to accept reality for what it is. Knowing this truth he is finally free to exist with some manner of freedom and fulfillment, some desire to live because he had distilled all manner of false hopes and illusions from his here-and-now existence, “Somehow the realization that no
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