the universe [Theme] Page 199

There is nothing special. No magic. Only physics.

This world now belongs to us, our world, Tyler says. - Ancient long ago in their graves.

This world must be destroyed. That's the end of the world.

To live, to convince yourself that life is logical, prosaic and reasonable. First of all, reasonable. I'm sure of it. I spent a lot of time on this question. I will never forget the dying Declaration of Mrs. underwood: "When you increase the number of variables, the axioms themselves never change".
I really believe that.
I think therefore I exist. My face hair, so I shave. My wife and child died in a car accident, so I pray. All this is absolutely logical and reasonable. We live in the best of possible worlds, so please give me a "Kent" in the left hand beaker to the right, turn on "Starsky and Hutch" and listen to the melody, the harmony, the slow rotation of the Universe. It is logical and reasonable. Real and irrefutable, such as Coca-Cola.
But every man has two faces: the smiley named Jekyll and his opposite - dark Mr. Hyde, the creepy person on the other side of the mirror that has never heard of razors, prayers and logic of the Universe. You turn the mirror sideways and see a reflection of his face: half-mad, half-meaningful. Astronomers call the line between light and shadow terminator.
The reverse side says that the Universe logic is the logic of a child in a cowboy suit, with pleasure smeared Lollipop for a mile around. This is the logic of Napalm, paranoia, terror, random carcinoma. This logic eats itself. She claims that life is a monkey on the branch that life is hysterical and unpredictable as the coin which you flip to figure out who will pay for lunch.
I understand that from time to time you manage not to notice that the opposite direction. But still, you will inevitably encounter it when a few brave men decide to ride through Indiana, along the way shooting at kids on bikes. You meet her when your sister said she was going downstairs for a minute to the store, and there she was killed during an armed RAID. You see the face of Mr. Hyde when I hear the arguments your father about how to deploy the nose of your mother.
It's a roulette wheel. No matter how many numbers on it. The principle of a small rolling ball never changes. Don't say it's crazy. It is the embodiment of composure and sanity.
And this fatality, it is not only around you. She is within you, right now, is growing and developing in the dark like magic mushrooms. Call it the Thing in the Basement. Call it the Driving Force. I imagine her his own personal dinosaur, huge, slimy and crazy, wallowing in the swamp of my subconscious and not knowing what to hold on not to drown.

...the world is strange place. And cruel. And sometimes unlucky.

Today walnut, and tomorrow the whole world. Creeping inevitability.

And if the world is only a race to the bottom, who will condemn him if he comes out of the fight?

In this best of all possible worlds, everything is possible, even chorusline the stairs.

Are you going to eat the world or the world will eat you in any case everything is OK, everything is going according to plan.

People say us since our birth that the world is so-and-so and things are so-and-so. We have no choice. We have to accept that the world is exactly how we describe it.

...this world is not worth to live in it...