He usually remembered his dreams. Not this time, though. He felt as if he had slept for many, many days, and yet, he couldn’t remember a single thing his subconsciousness had produced over that time. Strange.
Oh, wait! There was this thing... People were chasing him around the village with pitchforks, they were angry, he was running away, but he couldn’t run, classic dream problems!, they caught him, everything went even more blurry... Nah, whatever, just another dream.
This ceiling looks strange, doesn’t it?, he realised. Where the fuck am I?
I’m a bit annoyed when somebody tries to convert me to their faith. Because although I know they probably do it for good reasons, wanting to give me a gift of eternal salvation and all that crap, from a perspective of a person that has spent (way too) much time getting to know religions of the world, the fact that god doesn’t exist is so obvious, and the absurdity of religions is so immense, that there’s no way back for me. It’s a waste of time to even look at it.
I have, however, found a way to spare myself all that conversional boredom. Ready?
Trochę mnie wkurza, gdy ktoś chce mnie nawracać. Bo wprawdzie wiem, że to zapewne z dobrych pobudek, że chcą mi dać prezent w postaci życia wiecznego i w ogóle, ale z perspektywy człowieka, który spędził (zdecydowanie zbyt) wiele czasu na poznawaniu religii świata, fakt nieistnienia boga jest dla mnie tak oczywisty, a absurdalność religii tak wielka, że nie ma już dla mnie drogi powrotnej. Szkoda czasu nawet na patrzenie w jej stronę.
Znalazłem jednak sposób, by sobie tych nawracaniowych przynudzań oszczędzić. Gotowi?