the meaning of life

It was a beautiful day today, but what marred it for me was I narrowly avoided being run over by a van. My fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going! I thought of all the people who would miss me had I died. There weren’t many! I wondered if anyone would discover greatness in my self-published novels and wonder why on earth no literary agent ever expressed an interest in representing me. I think I must have been born an irreligious atheist/God denier, because wherever I’ve been, whatever I’ve done, not for one solitary moment have I believed in life after death. No heaven, no alternate dimension where one meets and greets dead relatives, dead friends and dead pets. The end is the end, nonexistence, oblivion! Yet, when the heart stops, deprived of oxygen carried by blood, it takes a further 6-minutes for the brain to die. I do wonder what must go through one’s mind, if anything? If, as I believe, there is nothing else further, then what happens to a lifetime’s accumulation of memories and dare I say, wisdom? It must die with us, and if so, what was the point of a life in the first place? Could that be the big joke played upon us? Is ‘existence’ truly pointless? Is the true purpose of life to prepare oneself for death? Now you might turn around and say to me, ‘enjoy life while you’ve got it’. As a writer full of angst, unfortunately I don’t have that capacity! Of I wish I’d been a musician rather than a writer! Anyway, I think I deserve a brandy and a joint! Shit, I’m using too many exclamation marks!!!


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