What's my life's purpose? Tell the stories of my people. It's as simple as that. I'm not working for some theoretical future. We're all gonna turn into robots soon anyway. Nah, I'm writing for the Here and Now. I'm writing for you in the room. You and I are the only ones here. And what's the best possible thing for you and I to do with our last moments together?
Fuck.
Due to the fact that's physically impossible, we must revert to plan B, and find out the most about who we are and figure out the best way to survive on this hostile rock.
I open myself to you. All I can give is the truth. Can either of us handle it? That's a good question. A better question is will I be able to get good enough at opening my soul and drawing out the words and sentences of one human's consciousness. This is a Portrait of a Human as honestly as I can get it.
I'ma fuck it up, sure. But here and there I might get it – my truth to you, all packaged and ribboned.
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