There are worms and birds and butterflies and big expensive spaceships punching through the purple sky. It’s all I hear on the internet.

It was a relief to find out that nobody knew nothing nowhere. It was a relief to have time speed it all up, so that we could recognize that their great ballets were really just flagellations. They were less like rocks and more like dust. It allowed the odd hope. It made us as good as gods. but it’s tiresome now. Come on, superman. Everybody has bad days. Everybody's beating themselves to shit. You can tell them you did it for the pussy.