You are not your job. You are not the money in your bank
account. You are not the car you drive. You are not how much money is in your
wallet. You are not your fucking khakis. You are the all-singing, all-dancing crap
of the world.
It began with an act of supreme violence-- a big bang expanding ever outward, cosmos born of matter and gas,
matter and gas ten billion years ago. Whose idea was this? Who had the audacity for such invention? And the
reason? Were we part of that plan ten billion years ago? Are we born only to die? To be fruitful and multiply and
replenish the earth before giving way to our generations? If there is a beginning, must there be an end? We burn
like fires in our time only to be extinguished. To surrender to the elements' eternal reclaim. Matter and gas... will
this all end one day? Life no longer passing to life, the Earth left barren like the stars above, like the cosmos. Will
the hand that lit the flame let it burn down? Let it burn out? Could we, too, become extinct? Or if this fire of life
living inside us is meant to go on, who decides? Who tends the flames? Can he reignite the spark even as it grows
cold and weak?
- Dana Scully - (from Biogenesis)
Are you kidding me? Any moron with a pack of matches can start a fire.
Raining down sulfur takes a huge level of endurance. Mass genocide is the most
exhausting activity one can engage in, next to soccer.
