What happens after we die? Nobody knows for sure, because no one ever came back to tell us. So chances are great our life has no special meaning in this big quiet cold cosmos we live in like an unrecognized microscopic particle.

I am so glad that there is fiction. Reading books and traveling in them with my mind makes me happy. Enhancing my reading experiences with weed (yes THAT weed), my imagination opens a door to other worlds and dimensions and breaks through the pages of the books. The story goes on in my mind, in some lucky cases I dream of it in my sleep.

Besides finding the one person that really loves you (which luckily happened to me) escapism is the only occupation or philosophy that really makes sense. Let’s entertain ourselves till we cease to exist.


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