I don't say this because I'm explicitly against that. Honestly, I don't even know what I'm doing uploading this. In all liklihood, there will never be another human being who looks at the words on this screen other than me. To some extent, I'm not even sure why I'm doing this. I'm not even sure what it's for. A strange, unintelligable corner of my brain is satisified by the idea that these words may live longer than me, that to write here is to cast a message, no matter how delirious, to the universe. Maybe if I was born a thousand years ago, I would have etched some equally stupid bullshit into some stone someplace. This is how it works now, I suppose, for what is natural and "real" in a sense is also subject to the limits of the physical. Ink can decay, stones can erode, but silicon never forgets. Or maybe it does, because we haven't known it long enough.
It's a human urge, though: to be remembered. Forever obsessed with immortality, humanity has obtained a mere shadow of it by leaving our impressions on others and our universe. Even as an entire race, we seek to be remembered. That's why the golden record is in Voyager 2, cast away to the cold embraces of space to drift forever just so one day, it may be found, and with it: us. Of course, not in the physical sense. By the time any potential sentient life in the universe comes across it, we will most likely be gone, and so will any trace of us. Except one. Music, photos and words from almost 50 years ago. Because if we are not to live forever physically, our ideas may survive. Our culture. Our hopes, our drams, our aspirations, our nightmares. It would be possible to depict this desire as an egotistical one, but I don't believe it is. The universe gives us everything, literally everything. And for that gift, we perhaps childishly leave a little etching of ourselves within the cosmos. A galactic "we were here", complete with the pinnacle of humanity: art. Life is art, for a life spent without desire, longing and an abject lack of awareness about what we are doing here is not really a life at all. No-one has any idea what they're doing. Anyone who says otherwise is lying or stupid. And I'm stupid too. I don't know anything more than anyone else about anything. That's okay. I'm here, and one day, I will be gone. While I do hope that the journey is a pleasant one, I'm thankful that I'm able to go on that journey at all. We all know the destination, but the route, the memories, the pitstops and the adventures are all yours. Cherish it, please. All that has been taken was one day given, the world's best gift. And although everything I have ever said has been said before and will be said again, I'm happy to walk down the road of billions of my ancestors who also had no idea what on earth it is that they were supposed to be doing.