/lit/ - Literature

hello? yes, cleanup on aisle 5, we've got another athiest

Humans aren’t exactly meant to care about 8 billion people at once.

Especially if they’re white or brown or tan or yellow or black or green or blue or have small squinty eyes or big trembling butts or huge hands or coarse hair or brown eyes or blue eyes or leave their untimely babies out to die or paint their faces with ash or don’t eat beef or chickens or carrots or drink wine or eat bread or yeast for a few weeks a year or don’t look at or kiss their wives or have dozens of wives or hunt tiger for their bones or whales for their meat or kiss snakes for money or die for honor or sleep in igloos or believe in god or gods or the son of god or wipe with their left hand and eat with their right with no fork or chopstick or spoon or knife and don’t use tweezers or gauze or neosporin on their wounds and can’t sing a twelve tone scale or write in cursive or speak English or Chinese or Russian or in tongues and don’t dance or sing or spin around very fast at all or play sports or climb mountains and don’t pay taxes or keep up with the Joneses or worry about the economy and don’t romanticize tribalism or sell full ducks from a tuk tuk or read or write or comprehend or examine life at all. It’s confusing to be different — it’s hard to understand context.

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