Why do we place so much value on existing?
Why can’t we just let people go without a fuss?
Seven billion plus crammed on a speck floating blindly in the middle of a cold, silent, eternal infinite. And yet we have to make a tragedy out of every human lost?
I dreamt a glorious world yesterday where my passing was shrugged off like another sunset. All my folk lived on as if I had never existed. Fuck. If only they had it in them to be stoic about it, I’d end myself this minute.
It pisses me off thinking that I’ve been adding years to my life just because I’m loved and will be missed.
But love suffocates me and I don’t want to missed, so why do I feel obliged to pretend for their sake that I’m alive?
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As near as I can tell, we all suffer tragedies of scale. Somewhere in the world, someone is dying right now. Meanwhile, somewhere in the universe a star that’s a million times the size of our sun is blowing up. And at the same time, a paramecium is fighting for its life against an amoeba. How do we judge which matters more? By sheer size? That would seem awfully pedantic. No, I suppose there’s a different way things are valued. I personally think every death, every exploded star, every dead galaxy is a tragedy. But there’s the old “if a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it, does it make a sound?” Who knows.
Makes me think of our dual nature. We expend so much energy helping one another through life, because life and being alive are “good” things. Ok. Life and it’s values are precious, and it must be safeguarded.
Unless we disagree on something, in which case the only suitable solution is mass genocide, guns and bombs a-blazin’, and life then becomes meaningless and disposable. The side with the bigger pile of dead men loses.
So why should I give a shit about whether or not I’m here tomorrow, next month, next year? I’m an ant, we’re all ants, creation should be able to survive without us.
Maybe we’re only here because the planet needs our pee. Hmmm.