4am Sunday Morning. Writing under the artificial sunlight.
"You’d add ‘machine’ to whatever it makes."
"So are you are shit machine?"
The philosopher does not know the answer. He exists.
I fell asleep in the cinema after a long day of work – I was immune to explosions.
They are waiting for their turn to meet the doctor, who’d certify their existence in this room.
Aesthetics does not reflect the truth. The truth does not require aesthetics.