Who want’s to be normal? I don’t.
There’s much more to a painter or a painting than the simple process of smearing colored grease onto a piece of cloth.
Babies aren’t just random things, they’re houses that spirit people come to live in.
What if some of our DNA turns out to be remnants from people who aren’t even of this world but of worlds many light years away?
Where do we come from?
Where are we going?
Why are we here?