There is no ‘me’ – when I say ‘I’ what am I referring to? My memories and drives, my mental projections and beliefs? My car? My toenails? All dust and spent energy, an impending funeral and then a decade or two of anecdotes in the occasional chats of other doomed trainee corpses. My separateness, my ‘me-ness’, is not going to provide much comfort then, and a life devoted to the fulfilment of the drives of this odd and temporary conglomeration I’m steering, is no more than the combing of a cadaver’s hair.
