(no)
Just what exactly *are* objects? It seems like a really silly question. Really, it *should* be. Something that shouldn't be thought about for more than 2.763 seconds, if it even gets considered at all. Nothing more but a light itch on the back of one's mind, or whatever it is on the inside of those living, breathing creatures. The sort of itch that can go away on its own if you leave it for long enough, the sort that doesn't even really register until you *really* focus on it. And even then, you don't really feel much of an urge to scratch it unless you've got nothing better going on. The conundrum of what makes or doesn't make an object is something a little bit like that. Somewhat similar. Vaguely alludes to it. Again, it just sounds so *dumb*. The sort of thing no one really thinks about unless they're someone like Golf Ball, someone that overthinks things that aren't really worthy of much consideration, things that aren't really that big of a deal, in the end. Does it *really* matter what an object is, if it's something that can be rigidly defined, or just a vague, ambiguous category that is just *known* when one sees it? Does it have any sort of consequence, at the end of the day? Like, *seriously*. So what? Who cares? What then? What now? Why bother? Why think about anything at all, worry about all the possible worries of the day, when that's suboptimal? Why not just... *not* do that? But alas, the strict, concrete, objective definition of what an object is is something that has to be discussed repeatedly, over and over again. In an ideal world, in a perfect world, it shouldn't even be a proposal. Not even an idea brought up in jest. But this isn't a perfect world, not in the slightest. This is a world where the distinction *does* matter, because unseen, unfeeling, uncaring cosmic beings up above declared them to be necessary, spouting all sorts of vapid, meaningless nonsense to pass the time, wanting to start up tales about things that are ultimately irrelevant, insignificant, pointless. It's a painful distinction. Two groups that really should be one whole, but forcibly separated due to a whole bunch of inane nonsense, some mad ramblings about life or whatever. Like, come *on*. It's no big deal. Things are alive, some are dead, some that are alive would prefer to be dead. Big whoop. Big deal. Good grief. In a better world, it shouldn't have been given any thought at all. If there was any sense to the world, any sensibility in its inhabitants, it should've known better than to pry into things such as these. But apparently it's in the nature of the universe to ruin what is already good and just. The world was already perfect as it is, that sad, wet marble. Why did it have to ruin *everything*? What's the point? It's not like it affects anybody or anything. Because before then, there wasn't *anybody* to perceive any of it. But now, there is. Now there's people that care about things, that are concerned with how everything changes. One can't just do whatever it pleases anymore, now it has to take *them* into account. Who wants to do that, really? Nobody should, because nobody should exist. None at all. Nothing. None. Zilch. But that's all in the past now. A distant dream that's fated to dissipate into a fine mist. All that matters now is the present. The distinction exists. The border is set. The line is drawn in the proverbial sand. Some other flowery nonsense that ultimately means the same thing: this thing now exists in the world, and it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of it, whether or not it wants it gone. A hypothetical observer can cry, can kick, can scream, but it changes nothing. This is the way things are now. No turning back. The only way out is up. Forward. Onwards. To the future. To tomorrow. Regardless of how one reminisces, how frequently they look back, all they can ever truly perceive and experience is *now*. When thinking back to the past, when going back to it with rose-tinted glasses, it is merely their mind (or, again, *whatever* is in there) hastily putting up a simulation of what once was. Besides all the imperfections and flaws that come with it, it's also something that they're experiencing *now*. In the present. In the contemporary period. Right at this second. Exactly at this moment. *Now*. They can never truly relive the past, because the past doesn't exist. All that ever truly exists is the *now*. The now. No past, no future, just the now. The thing one perceives with their eyes, their ears, and whatever other sensory organs they happen to be equipped with. Golf Ball and her like-minded fools have thought plenty about that field in particular. The fact that they were all varied in *that* particular department. How come they didn't have any arms, while most of them do? Then there's the exceptional others: ones with arms and no legs, ones with neither set, ones with neither but can *fly* to make up for it, and so on, and so forth. Why is that? Why can't they all just be exactly the same? Why can't they have one less thing to complain about? One less thing to fret over? Could the universe really not afford to mold those essential appendages for them with the proverbial clay? What a cruel way of existence, that is. How horrific. How *traumatic*. How... senseless. This line of thinking was senseless, all of it. Just a bunch of nonsense. Junk. Scrap. Why do they all care so much about this and that, here and there, whatever? You exist, you live in this strange little world, you are beset on all sides by so many problems, and you are completely and utterly helpless, unable to stop *anything* at all. So what? Big deal? It's all in the mind, isn't it? Or, again, whatever's up there that does all the thinking. Everything's subjective. Things in the universe happen; maybe it's because someone did something, or maybe it's just nature doing its thing. If one *really* thinks about it, there's not really any concrete indication that the action in question is good or bad, or something in the middle. There's nothing to really define *any* of those things? It's all in the head. It receives certain signals from the universe, then interprets it in any way it wants. It's that interpretation that determines what good or bad or whatever is, nothing more. If it decides one day that nothing ultimately matters in the end and that nothing should bother them in any way, then that's perfectly fine. That's logically sound. Reasonable. The only authority in one's life at the end of the day is one's mind. Whatever it says goes. And if it says that everything's just fine, who's going to question it? Itself? Don't be ridiculous. Really, what incentivizes it to come up with such unpleasantries as pain or suffering? Why doesn't the brain (or whatever) think everything is good all the time? Isn't that what it wants? Why must it exist in such a horrific state of never being *truly* satiated? Why does it have to care about some 'generation of conscious' or whatever garbage it decides to spit out on a rainy day? Some have tried to think about it. They've thought about it plenty, for quite a while, with much deliberation, before finally giving up on it because it made their head hurt too much. Hurt. That's it. Things like good and bad, painful and not, those *are* largely constructs, sure. But these are constructs constructed for a reason. They're kept around, bouncing around the skull, because it has *some* basis in reality. And what is that basis? Well, perhaps the basis *is* reality. Consciousness. The fact that they can register anything at all. That state of existence is the only one they've ever known; that much is obvious, given the alternative is... not existing. It's the only way of life they've ever known. And they've grown quite attached to that way of life over the years, or whatever stretch of time these living objects have been existing for. It's familiar. It's normal. It's *fine*. Again, it's the only thing they've ever experienced. And so, the thought of experiencing anything *other* than that is a scary thing for them. Anything that threatens to terminate that stream of consciousness, anything that might kill them, naturally becomes something undesirable. Something to be avoided. From there comes bad, comes pain, comes everything else. Living is good. Not living is not good. Anything that keeps one living is good, and anything that renders you dead isn't. But is it really that bad? *Really*? Again, this is the world that forces you to care about Battling for Dream Island and whatnot. Is it really *that* bad to die? To cease existing? To not have to care about any of this anymore? They might not know what true, permanent death feels like; they have recovery centers that keep that at bay, through the means of unknown, arcane technology that they dare not delve into. But surely it can't be *that* bad? Can't be any worse than living in a world such as this, existing in the same plane of existence as *Needle*. Come on. If they gave it any actual thought, *really* thinking about it outside of the occasional circumstance, they'd know that not a single part of it matters in the end. Across the large scale of the universe, the vast stretches of time between the present moment and the rest of eternity, all their actions and decisions would ultimately be rendered into nothing. They can leave their mark on the sand, maybe shape it up into a neat little sandcastle, but time and tide will eventually wear it down into nothing, back into the flat beach that it once was. Then it'll get rid of the sand too. And the water. And everything else, while it's at it. There's no point. It's all futile. Why even bother? Why live? Why not just die? There's plenty of reasons people give out as to why not, such as the fact that they'd be long dead before anything like that ever happens. They're still alive, are they not? They're still there to some degree, even if they're dead inside. And because they're still alive, they can still affect things. They can still make an impact in the universe. That's just their nature. Only once they are well and truly dead can they stop making a change. And once that point is reached... Again, so *what*? They'll be dead. Very dead. They won't get to experience everything they've built up be slowly taken away, eroded into nothing by the shifting sands. They're *dead*. It's as simple as that. So why panic about it? Why worry? Life is ultimately what you make of it, and all else is irrelevant. If one is on a rut, all one has to do is just decide that they're not on a rut, actually. If something's getting them down, just begin with the assumption that it isn't, actually. It might sound inane, it might sound ridiculous. But that's the beautiful thing about it, isn't it? Don't like it? Just think it to be a non-issue, and it just goes away. Glorious. Great. Wonderful. Life is great all the time, and there's no reason for it not to be. It might all be for nothing at the end of the day, but it's not like you'll be alive to see it. There's a life out there to enjoy, so just enjoy it. Doesn't matter if you do things in a nonsense way, your stream of thought pouring forth like a great river, drowning everyone swept up by it and filling their lungs with things they cannot possibly comprehend or recognize. What matters is what you think about it, and you think it's good, isn't it? Otherwise, why would you do it?
Pin pushed Coiny off the cliff without any hesitation; it was for the best.
