Ah, the meaning of life. When you spend so much time looking for it, there's a good chance you might show yourself the meaning of being lonely. The idea that we're not alone in the universe, to me, also often comes down to what we define as our universe. It's semantic, it's aggravating, and there's a good chance it could drive you insane. But that's on the supposition that you're sane to begin with. And who gets to decide that is just one more can of worms. Why worms were canned and all that I'm not exactly sure of either, but when you open up that can, be prepared to go fishing. Does that mean vegetarians need not worry?
Okay, that's a touch abstract, and a touch not sensical, but I had to put something together in order to hit my four post monthly quota.
Have I actually said anything, though? And by what means was it dictated and arrived upon within the silly mass of what we call neurons and synapses and other scientific terms I'm blanking on. Hell, scientific is a term, and term is a term. But let's have this get terminal. No, not terminal, since I'm not really adept at programming, terminal, as in rather than this being the place where a flight takes off, or the descriptor for a bad illness except isn't every illness terminal because even if it doesn't off you it at least runs its course, does it not?
But this post has run its course. I like running courses.
Until October then...