people are sausages

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Well, not in the most literal sense, but we are just a collection of meaty substances bunched together in a thin and fragile membrane. I suppose the big difference is that we think, therefore we are. Sausages used to think and don't anymore, therefore they are not. Sometimes I get this profound feeling of why and what and the world, and whatsoever is beyond it, seems surreal and ridiculous. I think that this current feeling has been spurred on somewhat by watching The Orville last night, an episode humourously exploring the idea that one world's god was merely a former captain of an enormous spaceship which was just floating through space having suffered from engine failure hundreds of generations previously. It all seems so purpose-less, so pointless. Why do we exist at all? We're not achieving anything by being here. We're born, we live, we die, we nourish the earth. And so on. And so on. We make choices, but we don't know if they are our own choices, or simply those of an adventure book reader or a computer games whizzkid. Does it even matter what choices we make? Will we always end up where Fate wants us, regardless of our decisions? As a species we're full of self-importance and superiority, but really we're just all worthless. We serve no purpose other than to keep the earth ticking over. Eventually even we won't be needed anymore, and the world will become the domain of that funny little horse creature that is tinier than tiny, yet can survive anything, even the end of the world. Game Over. Well, aren't I a happy little sausage this morning?