To say simply that “life is just” or “life is fair” or anything of that sort of neutralizing atmosphere… would be partially shameless and about three-fourths irrelevant to our (meaning my) realities here and now.
My question to God (to Buddha, to Thoreau, to Bush, to Ginsburg, to the heavens and cosmos and universes beyond conception, to this fucking speck of dust on my desk) is “what the fuck?”
Carl Sagan… pass me a fucking light!
I don’t really understand exactly what the hell happens between justice and injustice… I’m not exactly sure where you would like to draw the line, or mark the point at which such development becomes too advanced to suddenly abort…
I don’t know. But I fucking wish I did.
It’s a cancerous feeling, something like this, where you’re almost positive that you should know. That you should have at least some sort of grasp on this type of judgment, but you come to find that you really have no idea whatsoever. No opinion. No say.
No goddamn clue.
And excuse my extraneous cussing and deferment from all that is holy and pure. I don’t live my life that way.
I want some fucking validity. And I want it now
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