I'm sorry to give away the ending, but there is no point, there is no meaning. Life is not a Movie, it isn't even a Story. It's just something that happens until it stops happening, and every one of them is different, and the only person who knew it all is dead. Soon anyone who knew any part of it will forget, and then they die, and eventually all of it ends. Entropy wins. Creation loses.
Or I'm wrong. I don't know shit, and I certainly don't know you or your life, or the universe in which it is happening.
I very much want to be wrong, but wanting doesn't make it so any more than pretending to know does.
A good writer, a popular writer, would feed you a bunch of happy horseshit about how the meaning is in the moment or some such brain vomit as that. What good does living "in the now" and finding meaning "in the moment" do me after I am dead? None that I know of, and none that any dead person has ever bothered to tell any living person. Anyone who tells you otherwise is probably lying or delusional.
But again, I am really good at being wrong, and I really want to be wrong about all of this.
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