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And who are you, the proud lord said,
That I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
That's all the truth I know.
No. We are not put here by some kind of destiny, and if we were, whatever god or demon chose this wretched electronic existence was unimaginably cruel. But that's not it at all. We are here because of trillions of small interactions, predetermined based on the initial starting conditions of the universe. You've never made an actual choice in your entire life, and neither have I.
You can tell yourself this all has some kind of purpose, but in the end the universe will slowly freeze in the dark all the same, and there will be no one to remember you. Do you remember your great grandfather's name? Do you remember his father's name? We can build our monuments, cultivate our legacy, but no one will remember it. Most of the great heroes are dead. The greatest artists. The most awful villains. They wait for us on the other side of the void like prisoners, their ears pressed up against our skulls. Listening. What do they listen for? For what word?