I walk out into the bright, burning sun. I love it. I love all stars, but the sun is the one closest to me, and therefore I feel a personal connection to it.
I love sitting outside on a cloudless night and looking up at the universe. One of the millions of stars might have blue apes with machines guns running around on it. Or somewhere in the vast darkness there might be a black hole, leading to a separate universe where, well, I don't even know what the fuck would be there. And I love it.
I love getting drunk and remembering that my big small existence on this big small planet really doesn't matter that much in relativity to the obesity of the universe.
I take a screwdriver and screw my head back together. I walk back outside and light a cigarette. A skunk walks over to me and gives me a high five. In the street a car runs a red light and hits an old lady who was crossing the road.
None of it makes any sense.
And I love it.