My other article got canceled this week so I guess I HAVE to write a void… ya know, if I wanna eat. But I was thinking to myself, “Do I really get a choice if I write or not?” I mean I’ve never said no. I’ve never been like oh I’m too busy for a void this week.
In fact I don’t really even plan to write them, they just sorta appear out of my fingers. Something just clicks inside my head and I sit down and stuff shows up on my screen. It’s as if the words are not my own, but rather like I am just some function or tool used by a higher power to deliver its message. As if I am a telegraph button being pressed to form sentences.
I wonder if all of us are just specks, atoms of swords or bullets being forced to fight a war of which we know nothing. We are being carried by leaders with unknown intention and ideology. Then I thought that an even more terrifying possibility exists. Maybe I am even less than some nameless soldier, following orders and fighting a war too broad for my narrow vision.
There exists the possibility, and not improbably so, that all we know, and are, is a game with some finite set of rules and players let go until everything sorts out and disorder wins. I wonder if even these thoughts are just the result of a couple equations and a list of initial vectors.
As I feel my fingers slowing down and my thoughts wrapping up I question whether I have the choice to continue thinking at all.
