Happiness is a simple choice. Our base state is not sadness littered
with the wreckage of our attempts to be happy. It's exactly the
opposite. And if you clean up the sadness wreckage, the litter of
sadness, the litter of the satellites, the literature satellites of
sadness, the sadtellites of brownian sadness, then the entropy of
happiness will grab you, will gravity onto your blackbody and suck you
down into the singularity. There you will be at one with the universe.

The litter of happiness. The litter of entropy. The heat death of
literature. The literature of entropy.

The blackbody and the bluebloods. To suck the bluebloods down in the
singularity. The singularity sucks, and the singularity swallows. The
rank & rickety file.

Several bluebloods in a comfortable liner. The first to be lost at the
entrance to a black hole. Some saw the universe subtly change after
that. More elegant, more polite, more platonic forms. The Department of
Creative Anarchy felt compelled to send a rickety liner full of
anarchists down in there "to mount a rescue mission". The rank & file
anarchists should've known not to trust their superiors, but then again
it's a tacit agreement when you work in that department in the first
place. You may someday be used as a human petard, a walking wrench to
shove into any works as needs wrenchin.