The smiling nihilist: Thoughts on Conquering Nihilism #1

The hardest thing about conquering nihilism – I guess, having no lived experience of such a victory – is coming up with a reason for doing so. We’re driven by a search for meaning and when that meaning is gone we’re like toys with our batteries removed, gathering fluff in the hallway, under a radiator, next to a shoe. It’s not that we can’t see the horizon, it’s just that we see it as tonally no different from any of the other grinding, banal horrors we’ve so far passed, peddling the sinking dingy of futility along the rancid river of pointlessness we call life. There’s little motivation to travel from one place to another when every place is the exact same bald and ridiculous cosmic ‘fuck you’. So what do you replace meaning with when the meaning’s gone? Do you stuff whatever will vaguely fit into your empty battery compartment and hope that’ll do the trick? Do you make a battery out of an old potato and some wires and hope that, if only you can lurch up and start banging your little cymbal again, you’ll soon forget about the indignity of life living next to a shoe? But you never will. Nothing apart from batteries will fit into your battery compartment and there was only ever one battery in the world and now that battery’s gone forever and what’s worse is that now you don’t even BELIEVE in the fucking battery. Do you go back to God and ask if he’ll perform a miracle and allow you to believe in him? That’d help. That’d just about get those little cymbals going again. But God went the same way as the battery and, just as it’s useless to keep trying to cram sex and charity work into your battery box, it’s a waste of time to keep trying to insert unsuitable things into your god compartment. Shopping won’t fit, nor will sex, drugs or rock and /or roll. Some of these things will give you a quick jolt that’ll get you back on your little plastic feet for a short time, but you’ll be a zombie, your thoughts not your own, your gears grinding ever more slowly as you traipse off to go bankrupt, get AIDS, die of an overdose and/or lose your hearing. Insert sound of toy cymbals clashing here.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.