I'm not sorry.

Sometimes, when I have had a few drinks, I believe that it will all work out. I shall build a castle and a bunker and we will all live there happily. I will be a patron of real arts: science, engineering, politics, and economics. I don't know who 'we' is, or how many 'all' entails. We shall drink and carouse atop the battlements and produce enough surplus to fulfill our responsibilities to the wretched of the earth. A center of culture and science, to be sure. Feudalism without the futility. Justice. Happiness.

Sometimes I believe the same thing when I'm completely sober. But more often I see death and the void. Neither one makes sense to me, so I find it impossible to be afraid. Many people are pathologically driven to discover the meaning behind it all, for it gives them comfort. I do not frequently admit it, but I am driven to discover that there is no meaning. No one loves of us, we have no purpose, and this entire series of events is an accident.

There is no sense in saying goodbye to anyone or finishing anything. There is no sense in saying anything to one who is facing eternity. Regardless of my wishes, I will be forgotten, so I may as well wish to be forgotten.

I would like to leave one of my final thoughts. It is no more or less important than any others, but it is one of the last.

Man has no natural rights, which is why he must guard his artificial ones all the more jealously.