Why does everything feel so useless? So ultimately pointless? Nothing lasts forever, sure, and yet things that last a long time are revered by most cultures. Mountains, pyramids, the sun or stars themselves. Yet, even those wont be there forever. They are no more permanent than us, they just have a slower transition to impermanence. And if, not even mountains exist forever, stars blow apart and our very own sun heads towards obliteration, then what does it matter what we do? Not many people will care or find much evidence of my life by the time the sun destroys the earth. Hardly anyone particularly cares what I do now at this present time. So why then should I? Why should I meter out my desires by the wants of other people or by my own internal morality pressed upon me when I was a child?
If there is no invisible, omniscient and omnipotent God, whom maintains ownership of me and this planet, which I'm plainly convinced there isn't, then why should I not do what I want, exist how I want? When I am nothing but an echo in dust, another faceless nameless ancestor of anonymity, I won’t care. I wont rage on what humanity has become nor gnash my teeth against my own regrets. I will be nothing but an echo, long forgotten, non-existent. A ripple of cause and effect in time. How long till humans destroy themselves, inevitable, and then? Nothing. Life is pointless. We strive to get somewhere that ultimately is no where. And for what? Respect of peers? And at what expense? Our happiness and enjoyment of what little time we have. All to make money. Working nine hour days, clocking in at 8AM and out at 5PM, stressing about business which isn’t even ours. Getting abused for other peoples failures, losing our due credit to other people who do not deserve it. Paying 43% tax on our hard earned income and paying another 10% on all the goods and services we purchase. Why work or worry about what you earn when you lose 50% anyway? Every which way you turn somebody is fucking you over.
Being rich, being poor. That doesn't matter. We strive our guts out to make this money, so we can buy better TV’s, so we can afford couscous instead of cold beans. It’s all just a distraction. Work hard, your quality of life improves, your family loves you more, you can afford better holidays, and then perhaps you’ll be truly happy. Unlikely. True happiness is a myth. All there is these days is varying degrees of comfort. You sit around basking in the glow of your high definition television and DVD player, ears beating to the surround sound entertainment package, mouths filled with exotic sweet tasting foods. You feel comfortable sitting next to your wife, near your children. You call it love. You call it happiness. It’s comfort. Lulled into a distracted contentment where thinking about the bigger picture, or life’s scary questions, is pushed right out of your brain.
We’re programmed to get to twenty, or at best twenty-five. After that, each year is luck. As cells replicate and we deteriorate, that’s it, there’s no turning back time. There’s no pause button while we get things done. Does it matter? Living fast, dying young or meting out your existence slowly, dying at 90 in a nursing home, either way ends the same. It matters to you? You’ll be remembered for living fast and dying young? Maybe, but do you think you’ll care when you’re dead. Nothing matters after that. You might live the most impressive life ever, die thinking you’ll be remembered, but for how long? At best a few hundred years. Or you might be like Jesus and likely be remembered until the extinction of the human race. It won’t bring you back. It won’t give you eternal life. You’ll still be nothing. Maybe your organs will live on in someone else, or atoms of your matter be ingested by something else. This does not mean living on when everything that makes you you, your memories, your way of thinking, your personality, will be gone forever.
So as the universe expands until exhaustion, collapses in on itself once more only to be reborn in yet another big bang. Will everything occur the same way again? Will we be born a second time, and do everything the exact same way. Is that what “fate” is, because we've done it a trillion times before and are destined to repeat it forever. Perhaps. In which case I was meant to do everything bad I've ever done in my life and I certainly shouldn't feel bad about it. Especially considering the fact I've done it before and I’ll do it again. One must wonder how it all started in the first place and why it keeps continuing. If there are trillions of planets and stars in the universe, the question isn't how, but why. A question which will never be answered by man. No matter what, we won’t, as a species, survive long enough to see out any important machinations of the cosmos. So in that case, why care? Why bother worrying about something that you will never know. It all comes back to everything being useless. So ultimately pointless.
Why be happy, why be sad, just be, until you die. That’s the best you can do.