Once upon a time in a faraway land south of the steaming jungles, north of the mighty rivers, and east and west of the wastelands there lived a human person. He named himself by making up a sound he liked. His name was only a grunt, but he liked it, and liking something was a perfect awareness that he'd had that was not directly associated with his survival. In fact, he made this almost every facet of his life. He preferred to make up things he liked, but you'd hardly expect less from a human person. The man met a human person and they liked each other, and that's what they liked about liking each other. But then, they hung up about what they liked, and suddenly one day they needed to remember what they liked, or why they liked, and wonder if they even really liked each other; and this was the second awareness not directly associated with their survival. The choice seemed to be that you stop wondering how you're starting to like what the other person didn’t like. The third awareness was the most important, and made things sheerly out of nostalgia to the same degree