What if there is no right answer?
The devil exists to give our lives events.
How long have I been both leaf and insect? Am I equal parts both? If I weren’t, what would be the difference, upon death?
Imagine a more pensive and less adventurous Jack Kerouac being not necessarily “on the road,” but on the toilet.
I just met you; this is crazy.
Hey, giving an asteroid a character arc is hard! Seriously; you try it.
Could it be the meaning of life is simply to live it, to accept it, and revel in its ambiguity? Is life an end in itself? If so, is seeking meaning, purpose and direction self defeating?
Finally, a place where hipsters, struggling artists, and French kids can share their bleak outlook on life without angering the Facebook community.
I thought I would be instantly smashed to pieces, but somehow the train went straight over me, and except for the noise, it didn’t hurt a bit. I was really just embarrassed. Everybody was screaming and freaking out and I didn’t know what to do, so to avoid the awkward situation, I decided I would just pretend to be dead.
In the Observer profile Marie is quoted as saying, “I wrote to express my worldview/subjectivity because it felt then that no one had any idea.” Isn’t this why people write?