There are only two things in life. Success and failure. Call them as you will, happiness and discontentment, power and disinfluence, or fame or obscurity. There is only one thing after life. Death. To those who want it, it comes too late. To those who don’t, it comes too soon. Life is the long winding road to death. After our deaths comes the death of all who we know, and then the death of all who they have ever met and so on. The chance that everyone you have ever influenced will be dead increases over time. But you already know that. We delude ourselves into assuming that there is a reason for our existence. We create goals upon goals upon goals or we live without a mind. Some convince themselves that they want the maximum concentration of happiness in their life. The dare devils, the risk takers. They don’t care about others, but why should they? They’re all going to die eventually. Happiness experienced is a delusion created by biology to give us something to ignore the pointlessness. The same goes to the ones who simply want as much time as possible to experience happiness, the mundane and boring, the majority of people. Some just want to screw the world and take as much as they can with them. The politicians, the CEOs. They delude themselves with happiness by association with money, and end up being either the saddest or filled with the most contempt. These are idiots. The others live for society, one way or another. The arrogant pricks and those who live for only parties or to procreate. There is little to say about them. They are empty-headed scum, who perceive their only value in how they are seen. There are few others. There are some who see the definition of their life as what they have contributed to the world. These are the philanthropists, the scientists. They are the by far the most noble. However, they fail to recognize the existence of death. Those who focus on humans lack the capacity to recognize that someday, all they have done will mean nothing. Not because of some idiotic religious ideal, but because of the fact of death, which comes to us all. When I wore a younger man’s clothes, I imagined that we would someday cure mortality. I thought I could be the one to do it. As I grew older, I grew more incredulous of the thoughts I had once had. The last category of people are those who know what I have said. They are almost unanimously dead. So, now I can only wonder, what am I?
Thus I question whether ends my dissertation with a desertion.