Ask Me Anything


Ask me anything.
Any question that bothers your mind or your heart. Ask me anything because I can answer any question or poser you may decide to face me with. You may ask me when the Universe began or when the Earth was formed. You can ask me when the first people got here and if we are the product of selective evolution. You may also ask me the age of the mountain or the depth of the deepest sea.
Yes, indeed. You may ask me if there is life on Mars or if Venus is capable of supporting human life. You may ask me if Neil Armstrong really made it to the moon or if the moon landing was faked. You may throw posers at me about the fabric of the Universe and the mechanics of space and time.

You may even ask me if we were created by a benevolent God or if He put us down here for some kind of sport. You may ask me if He has a Son or a Spirit and is really in control of all our daily travails. You may ask me why and when we die, requesting diagrams and illustrations of the events that occur post-mortem. Yes… You may ask me that.

You may ask me why life socks so much sometimes. You may question me why a baby is born with cancer and a murderer lives past seventy. You may ask me why the sun only seems to shine on the honest, and the dishonest are always shaded by huge parasols bought with filthy money. You can ask me why we are ferried off into institutions to learn how to be human and forget that the best way to learn that is simply be human.

You can ask me anything, my friends… anything at all. You can ask me why I am so derisive of life, ignoring all its attempts to simply “live”. You can ask me why even though I have it here so much, I don’t just move on and forget all about this. You can write down your questions, such as why I wake up every morning with a sneer on my face and how I know that you wake up with a sneer on your face as well. Ask me why I rely on social media to keep in touch yet cannot say a word to you even if we are locked in the same room with no provisions and ate forced to share bedding. Ask me Anything, folks… anything indeed!

Ask me why I beg you for your posers. Ask me why I have this sickening fetishism for attention. Ask me why I cannot just exist on my own and wrestle my own demons or try to win them over to my side with treats of chocolate cake and ice cream (demons love those, BTW). Ask me why I cannot just lie on my bed, and be who I was meant to be, a man, born of a woman, in this charade called life. You can ask me anything.

And when you do ask, I will pop this last cyanide pill I saved from the Holocaust, drink it down with some schweppes, look you dead in the eye and reply “I do not know”.



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