My real name

We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English.

Right now, it is raining methane on Titan. The planet Uranus, apparently trying to live up to it’s name, is orbiting the su[n] sideways, while Venus spins backwards. There are stars exploding, black holes gorging, galaxies colliding.

And here we sit, on a planet pock-marked by collisions, rocked by earthquakes, shaken by storms. A planet doomed to be fried in radiation as it’s magnetic fields collapse, until finally the sun grows into a red giant and leaves nothing of the Earth but dust.

Here we sit, glasses on our noses, inhalers in our pockets, braces on our teeth, waiting to die as our heart muscle expires, our cells decide to grow forever, or a blood vessel just pops, and sometimes in unnatural ways, too.

Here we sit, and some of us say, behold, look at the *order* of it all.