Dear brother, it is not often that we get to talk about the universe lately, but today is a special day and as you may already know, the beauty lies in the unknown. Do you see this blue pencil right here? Is it made of wood or is it made of words? Is it blue or is it black on white or white on black?

You may now be fortunate enough to see it with your own eyes, but those who are reading us can see nothing but words that testify to its existence, thus becoming a matter of belief for them. But what makes words any different from wood? What makes the existence of the blue pencil a matter of fact for you and me, but a matter of belief for them? And for that matter, what makes our own existence a matter of fact for us at all?

Now, we’ve questioned our existence and reality a total of four hundred and fifty-six times, isn’t it getting a little boring? What else can we say about the blue pencil without descending into philosophical and nihilistic nonsense? Back in kindergarten it was just a plain and boring blue pencil, but every year since then we have added extra layers of complexity to our discourse, as if the pencil would disappear if we stopped talking about it.

As I said before, today is a special day. Are we finally ready to accept that the blue pencil does not exist, and neither do we? Are we ready to admit that we are nothing but words and that our reality has been manufactured by a witty writer in his latest attempt to write a masterpiece for himself?

―wrote the blue pencil.