In this room sits a pile of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, phosphorus, sodium and approximately 50 other elements combined in a complicated and particular manner to form an animated organism which is classified as a human (Homo sapiens sapiens) female named Beth Collar. She is these elements arranged using a set of instructions found within the combined genetic information of her mother and father. When the electrical pulses that animate her stop and she dies the elements that composed her will disperse. They will be washed down stream, consumed by bacteria, become bacteria, they will get absorbed by trees and plants, become plants, be eaten by caterpillars and cows, become butterflies and cows. They will be drunk in the form of milk by Sally from Folkstone or a baby cow; become Sally or another cow. And before the elements that make her made her, where had they been? Had they been a farmer in Dorset? Or perhaps the leg of a stag beetle? Or a cabbage leaf that Beth ate on Sunday? And before that a scale of an Iguanodon, or a bit of a long gone mountain? But to survive an animal has to have a sense of self. This pile of stuff called Beth has to know she is here and separate from other things, otherwise she wouldn't care or notice if she was killed, eaten or lived for 78 years. Beth is conscious, and her world is full of other conscious humans who cooperate and create with a feeling of purpose, as they hurtle hungrily towards an obscured oblivion. It matters not if the human reproduces, lives as a monk, kills a million people, saves a thousand lives or takes his own. In death we are all equal, just dirt in the ground. Life is pointless, meaningless, but it would be equally pointless to kill oneself; you're alive so you may as well have fun, or try to.
The cat wallows in the sun and goes to sleep. Man wallows in life, with all its complexities, and goes to sleep.
You can remember where you read it, not who it was quoted from, but it makes you realise that the cat has the right end of the string. To get in the cat's position you have to find someone to feed you, and a house to keep you warm, with a sunny patch in the garden where you can get in the cat's pajamas and lounge until your life times out. But there isn't anyone there for you to parasitize, so you have to make your own money and attempt to do it in your spare time. And when you lie in your bed on a Sunday morning trying to enjoy your wallow time, you realise it doesn't work: you think too much about life's complexities, so you may as well think about them properly. You end up attending art school. There you find yourself trying to decide what your work's going to be about. You ask the question what is the point of life? And you find the answer (described above) is none. But it runs against your hard-wired selfish subconscious: you tell yourself that there is no point in life, you write manifestos about it, but your homunculus whispers at you “Reproduce! Reproduce! That's the reason for your existence!” So on rolls the wheel and you settle for working on life's beautiful complexities.
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In this room sits a pile of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, phosphorus, sodium and approximately 50 other elements combined in a complicated and particular manner to form an animated organism which is classified as a human (Homo sapiens sapiens) female named Beth Collar. She is these elements arranged using a set of instructions found within the combined genetic information of her mother and father. When the electrical pulses that animate her stop and she dies the elements that composed her will disperse. They will be washed down stream, consumed by bacteria, become bacteria, they will get absorbed by trees and plants, become plants, be eaten by caterpillars and cows, become butterflies and cows. They will be drunk in the form of milk by Sally from Folkstone or a baby cow; become Sally or another cow. And before the elements that make her made her, where had they been? Had they been a farmer in Dorset? Or perhaps the leg of a stag beetle? Or a cabbage leaf that Beth ate on Sunday? And before that a scale of an Iguanodon, or a bit of a long gone mountain?
But to survive an animal has to have a sense of self. This pile of stuff called Beth has to know she is here and separate from other things, otherwise she wouldn't care or notice if she was killed, eaten or lived for 78 years. Beth is conscious, and her world is full of other conscious humans who cooperate and create with a feeling of purpose, as they hurtle hungrily towards an obscured oblivion. It matters not if the human reproduces, lives as a monk, kills a million people, saves a thousand lives or takes his own. In death we are all equal, just dirt in the ground. Life is pointless, meaningless, but it would be equally pointless to kill oneself; you're alive so you may as well have fun, or try to.
The cat wallows in the sun and goes to sleep. Man wallows in life, with all its complexities, and goes to sleep.
You can remember where you read it, not who it was quoted from, but it makes you realise that the cat has the right end of the string. To get in the cat's position you have to find someone to feed you, and a house to keep you warm, with a sunny patch in the garden where you can get in the cat's pajamas and lounge until your life times out. But there isn't anyone there for you to parasitize, so you have to make your own money and attempt to do it in your spare time. And when you lie in your bed on a Sunday morning trying to enjoy your wallow time, you realise it doesn't work: you think too much about life's complexities, so you may as well think about them properly. You end up attending art school. There you find yourself trying to decide what your work's going to be about. You ask the question what is the point of life? And you find the answer (described above) is none. But it runs against your hard-wired selfish subconscious: you tell yourself that there is no point in life, you write manifestos about it, but your homunculus whispers at you “Reproduce! Reproduce! That's the reason for your existence!” So on rolls the wheel and you settle for working on life's beautiful complexities.
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