Reality is a story. That’s all.
And the story unliked is the one where achievements go for naught.
Life was futile, and here come all the youngsters to do it better.
To make more money, to build better houses, to fly in faster planes. . . .
Only to realize the futility of their non-achievements,
The emptiness of their story.
And for them to grumble about the next group of better, faster, stronger.
To die like the rest before.
No grand scheme accomplished.
Merely hand gestures, dance moves, and words belted out, as if the other hearing ears comprehended.
As if a sound ever reached another.
As if the face and body were any more real than a fire frozen in time.
As if achievements could ever do anything but fade into nothingness.
As if the next group of apes – the ones after a blazing reset – couldn’t erect an even more beautiful Empire State.