It's when you learn that the sun's gravity can bend light and make a star in the east appear forty five degrees away from its real location. Or, when light from another star finally lands into your good ol' pair of lenses, though the giant fucking ball had exploded even before the first strings of protein (that would eventually become you and the neighbors you so hated) were glued by chance or by some earthly gods.
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Now on the third day of reading A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking and the farthest I've gone is the fourth chapter. I'm virtually drunk with all the physics but I swear upon my future grave, I'll finish this book. Hell, it's no easy read, but worth the headache.
So it often happens--that upon your admiration of the sky in a cloudless night, you take pleasure in being cheated by things that are not actually there or have been--for the longest time--dead.
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Now on the third day of reading A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking and the farthest I've gone is the fourth chapter. I'm virtually drunk with all the physics but I swear upon my future grave, I'll finish this book. Hell, it's no easy read, but worth the headache.
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