Everybody I know is Unhappy
I know a good number of good people. There is a pall on us all.
We are doing alright in that we have jobs and have had lives and are used to regular amounts of pain from our backs or sadness over tragedies we have read about or seen stories of on the tv.
I’ve slept in ditches and only been able somehow to give away bits of myself on holidays.
Poverty is not being able to give more than not having for yourself.
Paris Hilton is poor without fame. It is interesting and admirable that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt want to be famous for working with the UN for Children as much as they wanted to be famous for being good actors.
I only know them from what I have seen at the movies and in the papers.
Still I am disturbed that I feel a pall over the minds of my humanity.
Really we are alright and it is a good thing that we are offended by cartoons of Mohammed. It is a sensible pall.
It is the good thing and the bad thing that is the only hope there is going on in public since you can be sure that secretly there are killers out to really essentially end the world, kill us all because some of us like a good laugh and have some humor inspired by bad answers and doubt.
Maybe I will live forever, but I really doubt it, for instance.
And what is so great about virgins anyway?
Now they have filled an empty worn out Russian spacesuit up with trash and put an antenna on its head and children are going to tune in to hear the voice of a robot child report the weather till it stops talking because it has fallen into the Earth and burned up.
It is no wonder that we are all depressed when this is the happiest story on the radio.
I suspect that the thing to do now is to send a ship up to get the stuffed doll and keep it from burning up as if it was symbolic enough to forstall us all from extinction.