We've established that the universe is inherently pointless. The search for meaning is a futile endeavor. And yet, we toil away, creating meaning in our own minds, only to have it snatched away by the cruel hand of entropy.

But what's the point of it all? Is it merely to exist, to consume oxygen, and to eventually succumb to the ravages of time and the abyss of the universe?

Or perhaps, it's to find solace in the beauty of existence, to bask in the radiance of the stars, and to revel in the fleeting moments of joy that life has to offer?