I wonder. Is it somehow wrong of me to find the notion of a non-anthopocentric, uncaring cosmos comforting?

If there is no larger meaning, no great question (to which the answer is probably 42), no higher being with moral imperatives and a short temper, if the Snark so many humans pursue is actually a Boojum, is that not liberating?

In that state, we create our own small meanings for our own small lives, not subject to the whims or restrictive ideologies imposed in the names of imaginary (and often all-too-human) entities. In the words of the Bard "We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep." (you can always rely on Bill to put things neatly).

Is this freedom, this ability to forge our own meaning in a meaningless Universe, what Nietzsche was reaching for when he wrote of the 'Overman' as the final goal of human development?

Snapper-up of unconsidered trifles, walker of paths less travelled by. Advocate-in-Ordinary to His Satanic Majesty.

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