Before you fret over whatever insignificant issue you encounter today, or think to yourself that some babbling homeless drunk you pass on the street is “crazy,” remember that we’re on a rock rotating at 1,000 miles an hour in the middle of a vast, unknown, seemingly infinite space, and that the very body you’re inhabiting would vanish in an instant if the billions of little particles it was comprised of suddenly ceased revolving.  There is no normal. There are no facts.  The whole laughable, paper-thin construction that allows us to go about our day-to-day human existence is as frail as a dandelion in a hurricane; the underlying reality so terrifying we have no choice but to ignore it.

Still, don’t talk to me about science—unless you speak it in the same breath as a you pull a rabbit from a hat.  That hocus pocus is so holey it might as well be a religion. All you must know is that whatever you think you know—you know nothing. That’s right. Jack fucking shit. Now go—complain about love and politics, bad weather and uncomfortable shoes. It’s all relative, right?