Sunday, November 21

I have come to the veracious understanding that my life, and everything in it, is almost entirely meaningless. Any attempts to pretend otherwise are fruitless. I am nothing but a statistic. A few decades of consciousness to add to the growing web of mankind. A small speck in the myriad of human activity. My arrival and departure will both go unnoticed by the world. My name will not be on anyones lips once I have gone, indeed, it's unlikely it is on any while I am here. I will be forgotten, along with all the other poor souls who thought they could make a difference; thought they were special; thought they were different from all 'the others'. The brutal truth is, there is nothing in me that is significant enough to separate me from the billions, trillions even, of people that have been before me, and are around me, and will be after me. There is no place to discover that hasn't already been found. No idea to think of that hasn't been in somebody else's mind. Nothing new to taste, or smell, or see. We all think we're so fucking important, and we try to live these great lives - fill them up with things we think will give them meaning. Get an education, earn a decent living, fall in love, raise a family - but why? What does it all matter, in the end? If you don't do it, someone else will. They all will. Do you honestly believe that just because this is your life, it's so much more important than anyone else's? You are nothing but a clone - buying and crying and fucking your way through life, only to get to the end of it and realize that nobody really cares but you.