Is it that we are stuck here living life because we survived birth and there’s nothing we can do about it? If I have to do something about it, I cannot enter the womb again and wink out of existence.
Or the other option: Could I kill my human animal?
Well, maybe when it’s old and it can’t take care of me and I stop looking forward to or even dread the next day and can’t see anything ever changing for the better and there’s the pain and the drugs to lessen the pain. But we all perk up when there’s a great news story to suffer through.
Is having a roof and food and clothing and a useful way to spend my time enough?
Is adventure always available?
What is the only tomorrow that I’ll not experience? Is it I’ll never experience the first tomorrow because tomorrow never comes, or is it the tomorrow after I die?
Is it that I’m a text and the universe is my context, or is it that I am a context for the rest of the universe or both? And I take up no actual space!
What is a thinking machine’s thinking?
Does the thinking not exist until it’s finally recorded somehow?
Is it that we don’t exist until we are recorded somewhere?
Is it yes and no?
Can one relax when dodging viewpoints?
What is it like being undocumented?