The meaning of life and lack thereof

So I understand that most of the time I talk about fairly heavy subjects, and honestly, that's probably not going to end here.

I have often considered the thought of me going onto stage, almost a kind of stand-up comedy act. The thought is less daunting and more being bothered to actually go through the due process of getting everything to set up to do so.

Anyway, I doubt it would have jokes so much as just simple observation, and one topic that I have always felt I could describe in a clear way is the meaning of life, and all that bunkum, so this is the closest example of what you'd get to me on a stage would be like, and I guess therein lies that projection of whether you think I should go on stage or not. I digress.

The meaning of life centers very much upon one's perception of "life". The way you look upon the reasons for your being greatly affects your ability to grasp such answers. And that's why I think life should always be equated to a party.

And I don't mean a party specifically tailored to one thing like drugs and underage sex, but lord of the dungeons of dragons faggotry as well, just what you perceive to be a bog standard, normal party for you.

Except this one has 7 billion people, give or take.

Now, you're at this party, you're there, you don't know why, but everything is familiar to you, and you're perfectly decked out to engage with this party.

Do you ask "Why am I here?" or do you just get right fucking on partying hard, you have guys to party with, girls to party with, guys and guys, girls and sexy fucking girls, everywhere for you to party with.

You only ever ask "Why am I here?" at a party when you feel like you aren't enjoying it, you're uncomfortable and you're worried about choking on roofies, and you know what? If you don't enjoy it, you can always leave this party, and that my friends, is called suicide.

But no, instead, at this party, you grab your guy, your girl, that for some reason, in a seemingly impossible correlation of chances and logistics, you can tolerate and she or he can deal with your shit scared lonely mind, and you go upstairs, and you fuck.

You fuck for hours with this one person who gets you in this giant, confusing, fucking epic party, over and over, you stop, you argue, you talk, you fuck more and more until you stop.

And the party's over.

And it was awesome.

Maybe, just maybe, our whole point of existence is based on a premise, that one premise that we are not here to do anything, we are not here to be anything, our life is an invitation to a party celebrating all fucking existence and it's majesty to be attended by each and all, every last fucking human being, equal.

And God?

Well God is Ferris Bueler, creating this chaos just for everyone else to just let go and enjoy themselves.

At the end of it all, you go home, you enter the earth, and I don't see this as a slow rot, that's far too bleak a view. When we die we don't end, join the earth again, it's scientific fact. I see it as a person simply falling backwards into the ground as if it was liquid, and to me that's beautiful.

And then you're part of this planet, that is part of this entire universe, just how you started, rising from the ground, you were formed with parts of dying stars and dinosaurs, all this matter to build you, and now you've returned, one day you will be part of another being for all eternity as all reality warps before your eyes.

And so you're now sailing past the stars, existing in a small raindrop of a moment, at this party and you ask my "Why am I here?"

I would reply "Why would you want to ask?"