We choose our lives before we get here, and some seem to chose a life to make sure they are a huge pain in the butt to their fellow mortal flotsam inhabitants. Upon this realisation, I find it hard to feel sorry for anyone. In fact, I feel downright hostile to that sort over this contemplation. Makes me a fervent supporter of the Spartan practise of leaving the damn things our for vulture food. Do everyone a favour, including the vulture chow.
Sometimes more speculative knowledge brings not more peace, but major agitation.
The longer I am trapt here, the more I seem to be going in the wrong direction. I'm just becoming more intolerant, more resentful, and more eager to see the world blown to bits.
HEY ENLIL! DO A BETTER JOB NEXT TIME, HUH?
