Gods Dont Exist, page 4

That daniel crap was exactly that, crap. I'm sorry if that rattled your cage a bit.

Anyways... When we die, cognitive function ends. We dont have emotions or think anymore. And eventually our body begins decomposition and plants extract nutrients from it, bugs lay eggs in it, animals eat the flesh, etc... It promotes the cycle of life, right. Still, how does that prove that your brain lives on? It becomes mush.

Means nothing, really. But if it makes you feel better at night, sure.

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"Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in the night."

"Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and god was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever, and we are alone..."

"Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves go into oblivion. There is nothing else."

"Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose."

"This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not god who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us."

"Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach."

"Does that answer your questions, doctor?"

P.2:

"Diana remembered that their babysitter had to be home early and they left soon after dinner. Gloria went into the bedroom. I followed her. She walked out again, into the hall."

"I sat on the bed. She came in, waearing her coat, subjected me to a lot of crude sexual insults, went out. The front door slammed."

"Why do we argue? Life's so fragile, a successful virus clinging to a speck of mud, suspended in endless nothing."

"Next week, I could be putting her into a garbage sack, placing her outside for collection."

"I sat on the bed. I looked at the Rorschach blot. I tried to pretend it looked like a spreading tree, shadows pooled beneath it, but it didn't. It looked more like a dead cat I once found, the fat, glistening grubs writhing blindly, squirming over each other, frantically tunneling away from the light. But even that is avoiding the real horror. The horror is this: In the end, it is simply a picture of empty meaningless blackness. We are alone. There is nothing else."