I’ve been thinking about how the world mourns us.


See, if you amount to nothing special, the world doesn’t miss you at all.


And if you did, if your life was full of meaning and promise, well, the world tends to make more of you after you die then you were alive.


Do we miss the man that was, or the dreams that we had of him?

Personally, I would kill to see something weird right now, you know? There’s something great about something strange.