You see the bullshit. That’s good. But there’s a peace in the bullshit.
I’m basically alien. I don’t consider this my species. Yet, it is my species somehow. Life is basically a slimemold that’s 4 billion years old that slurries over the planet and will eventually be gone when the planet turns into a cold rock that then gets vaporized by the sun when it goes Red Giant or whatever. I’m just a nothing cell in this organism. But I’m enjoying my stay.
Oh it’s not books for me. I think a lot. I wake up thinking. I look around. It’s a strange place. I talk to people. Their responses are strange. I try to get in their heads, feel what they feel, try to see myself through their eyes, help them see me through theirs. But it’s alien-to-alien. All good tho’.