My meaningless existence can be temporarily ignored by subscribing to vague platitudes involving dreams.
When you push your body to the absolute limit, you’re still a small carbon-based life form occupying one room in an infinite and expanding universe.
For two million years of human civilization, an incalculable number of men, women and children have died violently, their final thoughts on this Earth consumed by the awful pain inflicted by their tormentors. Live in the moment.
It’s humid everywhere.
When they ask you what you did with your life, you can tell them you never found what you were looking for.
I am a grownup. (Chronologically, I didn’t have much say in the matter, but I accept the dictates of reality and am willing to participate in society as a mature adult cognizant of the responsibilities inherent to this circumstance.)
Because sitting by yourself can be regarded as suspicious behavior.
Turning whorehouses into history since A.D. 79.
Where you’d be without that liberal arts degree.
If you stay focused and work hard your entire life, someone, somewhere, will send you spam.
Beyond that lies radioactive gamma rays, mile-wide asteroids, barren planets, black holes, unfathomable nothingness, dust, debris, and the floating husks of a billion dead balloons.
Giving small, covetous monsters the key to your house and hoping they don’t burn it to the ground.