La Vie en Gris

Je ne veux pas travailler. Je veux seulement oublier et puis je fume.

What amount of believable bullshit is it going to be? Does anyone believe a word out of their mouths anymore? Can they? Can they form a reality from this twisted, overlapping, contradictory, overflowing junkyard of word bubbles floating above our heads everyday?
How do you choose? How do you believe what you see? How do you accept this mediatheism? How, in the world, can one of nature's greatest and most complex offspring, walk around this world and not run home everyday to scrub themselves free of the debris of insanity?
I am certain we are an experiment. How many trials do you need to find positive results? Several, if you're lucky. You don't just have sex once and hope for a baby. You keep trying. And then you get one. And then you try again, a million times, for another. We humans walking this earth, are a result of that experiment. Not all of us matter. There are only a few who will actually fertilize into something worth keeping. The rest of the kids are great and all, and you'll nurture them and love them and weep when they leave you, but they're not really the point, right?
The rest of us are not necessary, and are just extraneous to the real thing.
I am not necessary, and neither are you.
The world will not miss you.

Don't be offended. I'm sure you knew that on some level anyway. That's why we have blogs and facebook profiles and brand new shoes and hair dye and book signings and music and sports and marriage. And Disney movies. We have to give ourselves a purpose, right?