To the dissenters I say: Even if JC ex-ploded in your mouth, you have no rights whatsoever to define this so-called, as it were, reality terminal-vision situation we call our lives, when in fact you invited him to do so. Now, said explosion aside, don't let's discuss reality in terms of truth anymore. Belief in such a thing is as much a fiction as redemption; in the form of a carpenter or plumber, per se, of the depths of your soul, a bottomless pit traversed by leviathan after alien into the dark night of your stupid soul. I cried when Boone died. I sobbed over Jack. I will never get over the fact that I might have been loved by someone I barely noticed.
That is all.