“Why am I even here?
It’s random.
No Divine Thing.
No actual “purpose” except what we make of it.
I haven’t made anything of it except to be restless, to avoid, disconnect. (Oh; I create, but never made it a Thing.)
Is there an actual disability: ‘Purpose Avoidance Syndrome’? Can I call myself “apurposeful” (cf ‘asexual’)?
Oh: I can concoct them (purposes). It’s a thought-exercise: Concoct, Colour, Revise, Decorate, Set it into a ring – but I cannot wear it for long. .. It falls off.
Is this a survival advantage? Was I once the Adventurer, Inventor, Adaptor, Suvivalist? Did I lead my tribe to greener pastures, to better islands? And sometimes to its doom? Because the man with lack of impulse control (plus a lot of luck) would indeed seem like a God.”
…
[CONTEXT: Today I found a random page from a notepad. Some scribbles of mine from 2017. I was a mere 64 year of age back then, such a young naiive jerk willing to scribble random fragments onto random fragments then lose them for 6 years. And it was quite good, really. An insight. A throwback to better times. I record it here – for my biographers.]
Ged Maybury :: Steamed Up 