When I’m unhappy, I feel like I’m doing life wrong. I’d rather be happy. But is happiness the point of life, or is there more to it? If I pursue happiness, mine first then for those around me, is that selfish? But if there’s a bigger purpose, then what about people with Alzheimer’s or dementia who can’t recall recent experiences or make plans?
We yearn for answers to why we’re here, there’s a reason religion has been such a huge part of there human consciousness for so long, our brains are hard wired to find reasons for everything.
Since there is no known objective answer to this question, I’ll answer it subjectively, recognizing that my life experiences have tainted my views.
Life has no purpose. People who do immense “evil” will not be punished. People who do immense “good” will not be rewarded.
Your existence is a beautiful, flighty phenomenon. You are a heap of octillions of atoms that somehow gained self awareness. Your happiness is merely a chemical exchange in your skull meat, it’s fine to strive for happiness but it’s fleeting.
I personally strive for serenity, accepting reality for what it is and making peace with it. Nothing matters, we’re all going to lose the gift of consciousness through inevitable death, and that’s okay.
I’m meat with electricity in it, and somehow I know this. I’m using my finger meats to send your meat a message it can absorb and which will cause your meat to react in a certain way.
What. The. Fuck.
Sentient meat. Here’s the short story for anyone who hasn’t read it yet
Hello, meat. How’s it going?
Amazing. Thank you