The border between the Real and the Unreal is not fixed, but just marks the last place where rival gangs of shamans fought each other to a standstill.
Once something becomes discernible, or understandable, we no longer need to repeat it. We can destroy it.
You know, I have found a new way to get high and stay spaced out for hours on end, and the government can't stop me... It's called senility.
On a planet that increasingly resembles one huge Maximum Security prison, the only intelligent choice is to plan a jail break.
Most of our ancestors were not perfect ladies and gentlemen. The majority of them weren't even mammals.
Only the madman is absolutely sure.
