
Why paint? Why sing songs? Why write poetry? Why construct monuments and skyscrapers? Why put a man on the moon? We live on a tiny insignificant rock for a flash of light orbiting a truly unremarkable star in an empty universe made of nearly empty things on a slow dreary march to entropy and you ask why someone wrote a joyous post about their bowels? What’s the point of living if not shitting and sharing important moments with those around you? Why do any of it at all?