We are here.

There is something rather than nothing.

It appears that reality is embedded with a force called Time that causes all things to move.

It also appears that reality is embedded with a formula to figure itself out.

This begs the question of free will.

Am I behaving freely, do I have a choice, or am I simply acting out the functions embedded into the blue print of existence?

Is the ability to choose simply an illusion? Do I think I am choosing because I have been enabled with the ability to “think” and have mistaken this ability for choice? Am I simply unfolding through time as I have been programmed to do?

But beyond that… when I observe the world and its complexities it’s “realness” seems almost absurd to doubt. It seems like there really is a real world. That the stories we’ve learned in our science textbooks must hold true. There must have been a Big Bang. This must be a product of some explosion and evolutionary process. I must be here because I evolved from another species.

Right?

Regardless of the story we buy into, what seems to remain unexplained is the question of why truly is there existence rather than nonexistance?

Why is it that things are rather than are not?

The fact that there IS something rather than NOT trips me out.

Holy shit, I exist. What the fuck!?

I am here rather than not here.

Does that mean something? Or does it mean nothing?

Yeah, I’m here and so is everyone and everything else – big woop. (Hope you hear the sarcasm in this statement).

 

I just don’t get it. What’s the point?

If this means nothing who the hell cares. I sure don’t. Or maybe if I knew it really didn’t matter and I only had this life to live perhaps I would enjoy it more. Because I’d know that I’m only given one opportunity to exist, and since I do exist why not make the best of it?

It would be relieving to know that I didn’t have to live a certain way or do a certain thing or get to a certain place because in the end it doesn’t matter – so why fuss? Why get so caught up in a negative story? Nobody matters. Nothing matters. So fuck me and fuck you.

Fuck what you think. Fuck your bullshit. Your theories. Your science. It doesn’t matter: I don’t matter and you don’t matter and in the end nothing matters.

So have fun. Enjoy the one life that was granted by coincidence, by odd chance, by luck.

 

But I don’t know that that’s the fucking truth. I don’t know the why. I only have ideas. Theories. Guesses. Stories.

I am always left guessing. Wondering. Searching.

At times the search becomes exhausting. And I hate that I care so much. That it’s somehow embedded in my DNA to obsess about life, my place in it and the meaning of all this.

 

Whatever.

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