To-night. The moon. These words.
I am overwhelmed by it all. The sheer enormity of my existence.
How do I exist? And you. Perhaps reading this. You, who I do not know, yet I can speak to you, touch you, through these words. Maybe.
How do we exist?
I’m a little drunk.
Science fiction can, and should, be about reimagining social possibilities, not just blowing shit up in space; however, if you can reimagine social possibilities while blowing shit up in space, I am all for that.
Anthropology, University of Pennsylvania
Can I have the real title of this thesis, please?
Can I read this thesis please?