I think I'm a bit like a kind of shark, that if I stop swimming, I won't be able to breathe, something like that.

I have so very much. I have so very little.

It's early days. A few skeletons are bound to keep jumping out of the closet.

The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later.

I don't think any of us grew up into the world we were hoping for or expecting.

Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else.

There are people. There are stories. The people think they shape the stories, but the reverse if often closer to the truth. Stories shape the world. They exist independently of people, and in places quite devoid of man, there may yet be mythologies.