A lot of people tell me that we’re not very good people
Life is pain
A lot of people think it’d be better if we just died off
Joy is an illusion
Too smug and self assured in their own misery to ponder for even a moment
That their misery is not a product of an uncaring universe, but an unimaginative mind
The universe is cold
But who cares? Who really cares?
Since when do we humans need the approval of anything greater than ourselves?
I say such a thing is not only unneeded,
There is nothing greater than ourselves.
God is dead, and we have killed him
Must we not become gods ourselves to appear worthy of the task?
We create our own meaning
We define it
We control it
we will not lose.
An infinite volume of nothing
stretches out in the distance
But a point of flickering flame
in the infinite void
is a beautiful thing
And we will prove the universe wrong.