what is the point even.

Hi. My name is T. I’m a thought experiment, nice to meet you. How’s your day going? Fine? I’m sure it is, if you haven’t given in to your crippling existential angst. You haven’t, have you?

Have you?


Oh my days somebody call an…

Wait, you’re ok? Why didn’t you say anything?

Not cool, man.

Right now I want you to take a deep breath. Fill your lungs to exactly 73% capacity.

I said 73, not 73.4. Sheesh, can’t you do anything right? Oh. My bad. Hope I didn’t trigger any daddy issues. Alright, it doesn’t have to be exact, fill your lungs the best you can, Terry (I’m calling you that because it’s a fairly gender-neutral name).

Alright, are you done? Now imagine you’re the eighth gill of a clawed lobster. Exhale. Feel the carbon dioxide leave your airways and pass into the ocean. Now inhale. Feel the salty ocean water wash over your gills. Draw oxygen into your blue blood.



How do you feel. What do you feel?

Nothing? Exactly.

What do you mean, what was the point of that? Does it matter?

No? Exactly.



“What the hell is this supposed to be, Mike?”

“I don’t know, Jenn. Why does it have to be anything? It’s experimental, so it’s ok if you don’t understand.”

“That’s total bull, Mike. You binge-watched Rick and Morty again, didn’t you?”



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