How You Are


It’s kind of odd to me when people ask how you’re doing. I know it’s polite, but I don’t think anyone is prepared for more than “oh, fine.” 

What about the truth? “Oh, I’m flying through infinite nothingness on a rock next to a giant gaseous nuclear explosion, with little guidance from an eternal being who may or may not be there, but who’s followers seem intent on turning this pale blue insignificance into a garbage filled hellscape where a tiny minority of glorified apes runs an enormous civilization scheme that depends on various types of slave labor to form undying plastic waste from the only redeemable feature of this planet, its natural beauty. How are you?” 

Or maybe something a little more aspirational. “Oh I’ve been lifting weights and practicing with firearms so I have a better chance of murdering my way to a safe location when civilization tears itself apart over the petty grievances and unending greed of a species who developed conciousness only as an accident of evolution.” 

I’m rarely invited to parties. 

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