Life, or something like it.
I wince, seeing the spreading ink blot on paper: the birth of a baby blue universe, a miniature creation centred on the tip of the stylish upward stroke at the end of e, completing hope. I must have gone into one of my tangential thought processes again.
My overpaid psychiatrist would take a deep breath, cross his legs, loosen down his shoulders and comment that this stylish upward stroke signifies an unhappy childhood. He'd go on to suggest that I get laid and would slyly remark that he could arrange for it.
I used to belive in psychiatrists until I met one. But that doesn't mean anything. I used to believe in conspiracy theories, of reptiloids taking over the world, creation, patriotism, scruples, morals, fidelty, god, God and my science teacher. I no longer do. I used to believe in right and wrong, life on mars, aliens, purpose in life and in myself. I no longer do.
I believed in my science teacher till the time she told me that eclipses aren't caused by giant snakes gobbling up the sun, like my mom, in her infinite wisdom had taught me, but rather by shadows, in much the same way that my mentally retarded neighbour who pees in his pants casts barking dogs on the wall.
I believed in God till I had an accident. I believed in my psychiatrist till he told me that there was nothing wrong with me. I believed in my mom till she told me that I had certain duties to fulfil in life.
What is it then that I believe in? Well, I believe in dinosaus, and yes, that's about it. Here I am, all of twenty five years old, and all that I believe in this wretched existence are things, the last of which died 65 million years back, some of them sporting funky plumages.
I believed in creation till I stumbled onto anthropic principle. I believed in the anthropic principle till I embraced nihilism. I believed in nihilism till I understood nihilism, and now, all that's left are the dinosaurs. Fossils, the size of three-storeyed buildings stand tall amidsr the carcasses of my past beliefs - little independent conscious beliefs that lived, some ephemeral, some for a while, but all of them discarnate, like a ball of light thats light all the way down and out at the other end, incorporeal entities, but somehow sometimes, some of these spectral entities manage to eke out lesser incorporals adding to the pile of bodiless carcasses, a graveyard of dead beliefs at the centre of which lies the equally tenuous gallimimus fossil, letting out triumphant shouts that