You see the bullshit. That's good. But there's a peace in the
  bullshit. I'm basically alien. I don't consider this my species.
  Yet, it is my species somehow. Life is basically a slimemold
  that's 4 billion years old that slurries over the planet and
  will eventually be gone when the planet turns into a cold rock
  that then gets vaporized by the sun when it goes Red Giant or
  whatever. I'm just a nothing cell in this organism. But I'm
  enjoying my stay. Oh it's not books for me. I think a lot. I
  wake up thinking. I look around. It's a strange place. I talk to
  people. Their responses are strange. I try to get in their
  heads, feel what they feel, try to see myself through their
  eyes, help them see me through theirs. But it's alien-to-alien.
  All good tho'.

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