Is a Tree really a Tree?

So one day some guy decided, look at that thing that looks like wood with little pieces of things stuck on other things that goes up. Let's name it. Hmm but what? What sounds good on the tip of my tongue when I look at this fine image in my head? Tree. That's a good one. And so another word was created and another word was added to the book of words that was then later translated across the world in all different languages and that word was then put on every bookshelf in every Barnes & Nobles in America in the Webster's Dictionary.

Is that how it happened? Did we just one day decide well there we go, here's another word to describe that bird or that "wooden" coffee table or the shower head? It seems as though we just created words simply because sounds made sense, they rolled off our tongues and formed sentences. But what is a sentence you may ask? Well does anyone really know. If you look at this rule by the fond philosopher, Saussure, then we really aren't saying anything at all. There is indeed no meaning to our madness. We create things and we buy things and we talk to people and we love things/people, but what does it really all mean in the end. It seems to me like we just die, something happens to our bodies. Well that's what I think. It had to be for something at least a recycling of the earth at least. I hope that the sounds we make are actually something, that we created something more then just a convenience of speech. It would scare the majority of the population if they really sat down and realized that the sounds each race, each ethnicity, each culture forms out of their mouths was nothingness. Why would it scare the majority of people. Well think about it. Wouldn't you be scared if you sat down and realized that you weren't here for any reason at all. That if you died, everything would just continue going. Well it does, you dying would affect the people and things that surround you, but if you 100% listened to this philosopher, you would drive yourself mad and the people around you would grow less and less, until if you did die, it really wouldn't matter. Who wants to live like that?

So instead we talk, we write, we communicate. Simply to stay sane. So that tree outside my window, it's a tree to me, well most days it's a tree.