Coming even sooner, my fellow ubermenschen…
Coming soon, fellow ubermenschen…
I am a regular guest on Aaron Clarey’s Older Brother Podcast, and two of the other Older Brother regulars this week hosted a YouTube telethon to raise funds for an apparently much-needed boobjob, using the hashtag #Boobs4Ann. So, that sparked an idea in my loins, and as a result I’m writing this little post from a happy nihilistic perspective on the wonderful, voluptuous, joyous, life-giving world of boobies.
Which means I’m going to take all the mystery out of man’s obsession with boobs, and conclude that boobjobs are ultimately meaningless because we all die. The sun will eventually expand and swallow up the Earth, where even the two plump little plastic packages of silicone gel that sit atop that heap of dust and crumbled bones that was you in your casket will become ashes and dust as well. But boobs matter now, because they make us happy.
Definition and origin of the word “boob”: a stupid or childish person, short for “booby,” which came from the Latin “balbus,” which means “stammering.” Yes, ladies, you’re boobs turn us men into stammering, childish idiots.
Why do we men really really like the sight of cleavage? Why do we like large breasts? Turns out, we don’t know exactly why, even from an evolutionary perspective. It could be because we are one of the few mammals who mate face to face. It could be because large fatty breasts signal a healthy woman who will be able to easily feed and nourish our children. It could be because women bond with their children through the release of the chemical oxytocin (or the “love drug”) when their nipples are stimulated during breastfeeding, and because humans are largely monogamous, women bond with their sexual partners as well when their nipples are stimulated in a similar (and fun) fashion. It could be because cleavage looks very similar to ass-cheek cleavage, which is the view from our desired vantage-point when not mating face-to-face.
A few visual examples of proof-of-concept, the first being a fine example from the new gameshow, “Boobs or Butt?”
The second, a fine example of a fine example:
We men are very visual creatures – the appeal of pornography alone proves this point definitively. But the problem with all these boob-obsessed theories is the evolutionary fact that sperm is cheap and literally expendable, fertile eggs are rare and precious, and therefore men cannot afford to be choosy – women really don’t have to compete for access to penis, and are ultimately responsible for sexual selection and access to reproduction. We men will have sex with anyone, big boobs or no.
And now, my personal perspective: Mrs. DT is well endowed. She is blessed with big boobies – well-beyond beyond D-cup, I believe – and therefore DT is likewise blessed. Mrs. DT is also not fat, so her big breasts are not a result of everything else being big. And the truly amazing and miraculous thing is that they work. When Mrs. DT was lactating after our first and second children were born, it truly was a sight to behold, watching her boobs grow even bigger. Her breasts were so big she had difficulty naturally breastfeeding our babies. Those bloated bags of milk could potentially suffocate the poor little things to death, their nostrils stopped with boobage. So we pumped, and it was a two-person job. She would hook up her two breasts to the machine, both her hands preoccupied, and my job was to take the full bottles, transfer the milk to plastic bags, and bring them back for a second filling. That’s right, Mrs. DT would fill four 6 ounce bottles during every pumping session, or 24 ounces total. The suction cups were clear, so I would watch the milk shoot out of her nipples like squirt-guns in regular time with every audible suck of the electric breastpump. Pew-pew-pew!
A newborn baby only needs 3 ounces per feeding, so Mrs. DT expressed enough milk in one pumping session to last 8 feedings, or enough for one whole day. She pumped at least four to five times per day. We filled both our freezers with those bags of breast milk, and after a few months of pumping we had enough to feed the kid for almost a year. She could’ve kept going, but stopped because we ran out of freezer space. We should’ve made money on her boobs – most women have trouble expressing enough milk – and studies show that newborn babies fed breast milk as opposed to formula are healthier and smarter. There is stuff in breast milk that babies need that just cannot be replicated in a lab.
Mrs. DT was a fertility goddess. No wonder the carved totems look the way they do. It was amazing, and gave me a whole new respect and admiration for boobies.
And men aren’t the only ones attracted to big boobs. Women are as well, and view other women blessed with them as being more motherly and loving. Waitresses with large boobs receive bigger tips from both men and women.
So what about boobjobs? As with all plastic surgery, they are a trick to signal good health and good genetics. What do they trick? Our big brains and our little brains. Babies cannot eat silicone gel. Fake breasts don’t work like real ones – I imagine they look kinda weird when working for real, depending on where the breast tissue is located in relation to the implants. They also look too perfect, too plastic, too round, too perky. We as men know they are fake, but we don’t care. We’d rather be fooled and happy, and trick our brains into believing we’ve struck the motherload of genetics. Ignorance is bliss. Boobjobs are a good trick – we men like the sight of them, and the women who “wear” them are likely more confident, self-assured, and feel more sexy.
So yes, boobjobs are a good trick, because they make us happy and fulfilled (and full-filled, for that matter). But really, isn’t sex itself mostly a trick? Sex feels amazing because we are born to reproduce and continue our genetics – that is the whole point of life itself, to grow and continue on into the future. The sexual drive is so strong men kill each other, and slowly kill themselves through hard work and toil, over the prospects of reproduction. But today we live in very different times, where contraception is widely available, and men and women can permanently sterilize themselves. When you really think about it, any sex that is not for the purposes of reproduction is tricking our brains into believing we are reproducing – “safe sex” produces all the same feelings as the real deal that results in children, with all the same chemicals released into our brains that produce feelings of pleasure, love, closeness, and intimacy that bond couples together precisely for the successful raising of their children. To be blunt, protected sex is using another person to masturbate. But it makes us happy, so what is wrong with that?
Boobjobs are good tricks. They are good lies. Sure, they won’t result in healthier children, and they will be the only things that remain when you’re dead and gone and nothing but a heap of dust with two little plastic sacks on top, like cherries atop a shit sundae, for some future alien archaeologist to find and wonder “what the fuck are these things?” Ultimately they don’t matter, but even reproduction itself doesn’t matter, because in the end everything burns.
But they matter now, because they make us happy and make life enjoyable.
So if you have a couple extra bucks, make your contribution to #Boobs4Ann. Why not?
“It’s a big universe, Jerry, and some things in it are talking monkey work. Monkeys, like you.” – the Angel Gabriel (played by Christopher Walken) in “The Prophecy”
You are a speck, living on a speck, orbiting a speck, spiraling about a speck, hurtling through a vast universe. Your life, your thoughts, your feelings, your successes, your failures, your joys, your sorrows, your romantic liaisons, your bowel movements – they don’t matter to a cold, dark, empty, infinite universe.
Consider this: even as you are sitting there, perfectly still and reading this, you are traveling at around 1,000 miles per hour, the speed of the earth’s rotation. The earth orbits the Sun at around 18.5 miles per second, and our solar system spirals around the center of our Milky Way Galaxy at about 515,000 miles per hour. Our Milky Way galaxy is a part of a cluster of galaxies that is moving towards another cluster at around 18.64 miles per second. But all these speeds are relative and measured against other objects flying through space. How fast are we moving through space relative to itself? Best guess, thanks to comparisons to the cosmic background radiation, scientists estimate that our galaxy travels through space at 1.3 million miles per hour (361.1 miles per second). We have no idea if the universe itself is traveling at some rate of speed relative to some other universe, or some truly fixed point in space.
That means every second, you are traveling 361.1 miles, or 1,906,608 feet. Every micro-second (0.000001 seconds), you are traveling 1.9 feet. Angstroms are units of length used to measure waves of light, and in terms of Angstroms you are traveling at 5.81e^15 Angstroms per second, or 5,810,000 Angstroms per nanosecond. A zeptosecond is the smallest measurement of time measured to date, relating to the ejection of an electron from a Helium atom, and equals 1e^-21 seconds. So in terms of Angstroms and zeptoseconds, you are traveling at 0.00000581 Angstroms per zeptosecond. I won’t get into Planck time, the theoretically smallest measurement of time possible relating to the speed at which light travels, but you get the idea.
Sitting still, you are traveling the length of the United States in a little over seven seconds (2,680 miles/361.1 mps = 7.4 seconds).
This is why time-travel is practically impossible. Doc Brown’s Flux-Capacitor would take who-knows-how-long to calculate the precise location within space-time for the Delorean to show up in the exact same spot on the earth 30 years earlier, not to mention one minute in the future. If we ever achieve the ability to travel through time, it will be a trip into empty space. Even the smallest of rounding errors in calculations, the most refined of tolerances, would result in us showing up in the middle of cosmic nowhere with the Earth long since gone from that location.
That’s because most of the universe is empty space. Consider this further: the average density of ordinary matter (not the made up dark matter they conjured to balance their gravitational equations) in the universe is 0.2 to 0.25 atoms per cubic meter, or one atom per 140 cubic feet. That’s a little less than a single atom of matter per cord of firewood. The average human (100 kg/220 lb) is made up of 10e^27 atoms, or 10 billion billion billion atoms, and take up about 0.1 cubic meters. So the average human is 400 billion billion billion times more dense than the average density of the measurable universe.
Cosmic densities, distances and timescales make you realize real quick that you don’t matter. At all. Look up into the night sky and look into the abyss, and the abyss looks back. It is infinitely humbling. So what do we do with this realization?
You don’t matter to the universe. But you matter to your friends. You matter to your family. You matter to your children, and grandchildren. In the very least, you should matter to yourself. What you do will never matter in cosmic timescales, or even a short 100 years if you are one of the most influential of people in history. A century is nothing compared to light-years. But what you do does matter now.
Jordan Peterson in his “12 Rules For Life” challenges nihilism thusly: “…that’s a cliche of nihilism, like the phrase, In a million years, who’s going to know the difference? The proper response to that statement is not, Well, then, everything is meaningless. It’s, Any idiot can choose a frame of time within which nothing matters.”
The truth is, nothing matters. But another truth is, everything matters now, second to second. You are traveling at 361.1 miles every second, arriving at a completely different point in space-time, even when sitting still and doing nothing. That’s amazing. Allow the vast empty space of nihilism and the freedom that empty space entails to take you somewhere, like we are on this speck orbiting a speck, spiraling around a speck, hurtling through the vast emptiness of the universe.
Fuck legacies, the all-encompassing desire of every narcissist. Those history books written about you, their pages will eventually crumble or burn. Even the electronic ones and zeroes that make up your life’s story, stored in some vast computer memory, will be eventually be wiped clean via a human-caused EMP, or a CME solar event, or Windows Version 666 will crash, this time forever. At best, your legacy could remain, broadcast via radiowaves or microwaves forever through the universe, the signal weakening across the light-years, likely lost in the noise of other fading signals or cosmic background radiation created by the Big Bang, an event much much bigger than you, even though you are 400 billion billion billion times more dense than the average density of the universe.
No one is going to give a shit once you’re gone, no matter how many show up at your funeral (no one showed at Thomas Paine’s funeral). You’ll be lucky to be remembered by your grandchildren, tops, and maybe your great-grandchildren if you’re really lucky. So give them a hug and make them smile. Or give your buddy a call to see how he’s doing. Or scratch your dog behind his ears. Make them happy that you exist today.
A really funny feed on Twitter is Nihilist Arby’s. When beginning my “Nihilist Journey” (ugh, there’s that word again, journey), I found Nihilist Arby’s – I don’t remember exactly how or where, whether it be via a Google Search or an article on Nihilism – and I found it to be hilarious. Here are a few choice cuts (hur hurr):
If they somehow got the guy who does the voice-overs for the current “Arby’s We Have the Meats” television ad campaign, it would be even funnier. Page after page after page on the Twitter feed itself or in a simple Google images search, Nihilist Arby’s constructs its jokes first by stating a harsh truth of life, and concluding with the shrugging of the shoulders sentiment “so you might as well eat a delicious sandwich.” “Eat Arby’s” or “Enjoy Arby’s” is very similar to my own “Mmm, the Coffee’s Good!” or Ayn Rand’s “Who is John Galt?” – in essence, oh well, there’s nothing we can do about it, it just is the way that it is.
After laughing through pages and pages of Nihilist Arby’s zingers, I did begin to wonder why I thought they were so funny. Objectively, even as a nihilist, they should be depressing the hell out of me, but the phrase “It’s funny because it’s true” came to mind. So what do I do when I’m curious about something? I look it up.
I found an actual scientific research paper on the first page of the Google search, titled “It’s Funny Because It’s True (Because It Evokes Our Evolved Psychology)” by Barry X. Kuhle of the
University of Scranton. The strongest case he makes for the truth of “It’s funny because it’s true” is that the joke usually depends on the audience having a baseline understanding and general acceptance of the ideas behind the joke, and that these ideas and “truths” are not explained explicitly in the telling of the joke – otherwise the joke would not be funny, right?
The fact that we laugh at all is sort of an evolutionary fluke, because on its face, what laughter does to us physically would appear to be a disadvantage to survival. A quote of a quote from the paper: “Breathless, weakened, with lungs and muscles already spoken for; this is certainly not a state in which one would find greatest advantage when faced with life threatening hazards. Laughter thus seem[s] to be in direct conflict with the evolutionary tendency.” The fact that we laugh at all is a joke in itself, and a pretty good one.
But he also has some really interesting ideas on the evolution of humor as an obviously successful mating strategy, because we’re all here and most of us are laughing our asses off:
But is humor sexually attractive, from an evolutionary standpoint, just because it signals higher intelligence? Or that it showcases an ability to express unspoken, generally accepted harsh truths necessary for individual and group success and survival? What about the fact that we feel pain and suffering – that life in most ways is suffering? Don’t we need something as a self-aware and conscious species to offset that pain and suffering? To make it tolerable?
The fact that something called “Black Humor” exists I believe points to a different, harsher reason for the evolutionary existence of humor. Black Humor is defined as “combining the morbid and grotesque with humor and farce to give a disturbing effect and convey the absurdity and cruelty of life.”
Nihilst Arby’s I believe qualifies as Black Humor. When I think of an example of Black Humor, the first thing that comes to my mind is a scene from the film “Pulp Fiction” where the two hit-men, played by John Travolta and Sam Jackson, are transporting their hostage (a young black kid named Marvin) in the back seat of their car after killing all his friends who didn’t deliver on a deal to their boss. The two hit-men know they should be dead, because during the hit, they miraculously survived an onslaught of bullets from someone hiding in the bathroom. The two hit-men debate whether the event was just chance or an act of God, with Travolta’s character on the side of chance, but Sam’s experience is life changing and evidence of a higher power at work. When Travolta turns to ask Marvin his opinion (and on my first viewing I’m thinking “He’s pointing his gun right at Marvin!”), this happens:
“Oh, man, I shot Marvin in the face.” I’m in the theater, laughing my ass off at the absurdity and horror of it all, surprised I’m laughing along with everyone else, looking at the disgusting little bits of brain matter caught in Sam Jackson’s hair, while thinking “that’s Marvin right there, holy shit.” One second the two hit-men are discussing Chance vs. Acts of God in reference to their lives being spared, one making a life-altering decision to change his evil ways as a result, and the next a chance accident snuffs out a life in an explosion of gore (which we don’t really see, we just see the aftermath).
That is Black Humor. That is Nihilism. You are born. You die. Life sucks. Deal with it and enjoy it the best you can. Eat Arby’s.
Life is a Joke
In my estimation, humor as a successful survival and mating strategy is a secondary result to it being necessary for humans to deal with the “blessing” of consciousness and sentience. We are the only species (that we are aware of) that know we exist, that know we are individuals, that know our place in this harsh reality, and that know deep down in our bones that are going to die someday. Maybe tomorrow. But we can’t think too deeply about that, because it would render us immobile and unable to continue living and struggling and striving. So we push it back in our minds, and it rises to the surface from time to time, and when it comes to the surface as laughter, what a wonderful way to deal with it!
Nihilist Arby’s is funny because it’s true.
Just as Religion developed to help us deal mentally and emotionally with our mortality, fragility, finite-ness, and provide answers to questions with no answers in this reality such that we can keep living, I believe humor developed first to combat those same inevitable problems that result from a conscious existence. If we are only capable of looking into the abyss, and not point and laugh at its ridiculous emptiness in response, our species would’ve committed suicide long ago. We wouldn’t be here.
The duality of Light and Dark, Life and Death, Pain and Pleasure, Tears and Laughter, Suffering and Joy, is a truth. You cannot have one without the other. They exist in balance.
In The Killing Joke, Joker says to Batman: “It’s all a joke! Everything everybody ever valued or struggled for… it’s all a monstrous, demented gag! So why can’t you see the funny side? Why aren’t you laughing?” He’s right. We know it, deep down, which is why Joker is such a compelling and attractive character. Where Joker goes wrong is responding to this monstrous joke called existence by adding to the pain and suffering of others, rather than providing the needed balance of pleasure and joy. Life is cruel enough all on its own – people experience enough pain and suffering due to their own choices, faults, and actions, above and beyond the cruelty of disease, tragedy, acts of God, and accidents – we don’t need to add to it by purposefully and willfully causing pain and suffering, and laughing at the horrific consequences. That’s not Life. That’s not Existence. That is you, and what you have brought into existence. Just because someone is going to die alone one day, does not mean you should kill them now.
My family went to Valley Fair recently. It was a beautiful day, with a clear blue sky. My two daughters rode the roller-coasters for the first time because they were finally tall enough, and they rode all of them except the highest one, the Wild Thing. They didn’t want to ride that one, they were too scared, or maybe they were just saving it for next year – they had accomplished enough already. I didn’t tell them that the reason the roller coasters and rides are “fun” is because they simulate and stimulate the death-reflex in our bodies – we are not supposed to go that fast, or freefall like that, and survive. Adrenaline rushes into our system, we instinctively scream because our bodies think we are going to die, but then we don’t. So we literally laugh at the face of death, and go to the next ride to not die again.
The day was nearing its end, and we decided to ride the Scrambler that makes an appearance at most small county and city fairs. An oldie-but-goodie. Mrs. DT and I rode together in one car, and my two kids rode together in another car. They had trouble getting the seat-belt buckled. We could see them from where we sat, already buckled and latched in. I knew the ride attendant would come around to check eventually, but as a “good-Dad” I probably should’ve gotten out to help them myself. I could see them start to panic, looking over at us with wide eyes, not belted in – “What if the ride started? We’ll get flung out and die!!!” But a part of me, since they were big enough to ride the big rides, wanted to see how they would handle this situation – a little lesson in “self-reliance,” maybe.
My youngest tried to buckle the seat belt, jerked back her arm and elbowed my oldest in the face. Her glasses came off, hanging askew across the tip of her nose and from one ear. She looked over at us. I tried not to laugh. My oldest straightened her glasses and took a turn at the belt. She too accidentally elbowed her younger sister right in the chops. My youngest’s head snapped back a little. She looked at us. It was like a comedy-bit now, I couldn’t help but laugh, but at the same time tried to comfort them by saying the ride attendant was on his way. “Stop laughing at us! You’re laughing at us! You’re embarrassing us!” Now the kids were crying a little and pouting. They got belted in eventually. Safe and sound now, they crossed their arms and turned away from us.
They were showing us. They wouldn’t have fun on this ride now. We ruined it for them.
The Scrambler started moving and spinning, slow at first but accelerating quickly, and our two cars crossed paths on the ride again and again. Watching them pass in their car, it was like a time-lapse photography video, or stop-motion animation. We’d get a little glimpse each time the ride spun around. First they maintained face, grumpy and sad. But each time, their faces brightened a bit, the light twinkled more in their eyes, their smiles started to show, and after ten or so “photographs” they were open-mouthed laughing, pressed back into the seat, gripping onto to the bar with straightened arms, crinkled faces to the sky as if to say “stop tickling me, I’m going to pee my pants!” Mrs. DT and I laughed at the evolving image in equal measure.
I’m a visual person, and I’ll probably remember that image the rest of my life – their faces slowly transforming from sadness to laughter. Angry to happy in twenty seconds, thanks to the Scrambler.
After the ride, my youngest returned to being angry at us for laughing and embarrassing them. I explained what we saw from our angle – the dueling elbows to the faces – and laughter started to peek through her grumpy face and tears. She “got it.” She was in on the joke, even if she didn’t like it.
Sure, I am going to die, Mrs. DT is going to die, my kids are going to die, and that wonderful moment in time will be lost forever. But it’s here now, so enjoy it and laugh.
Your survival depends on it.
I can’t remember exactly how I found this song, which eventually became the inspiration for this new website (similar to how “The Black Brigade” by Mercenary inspired my previous effort at BlackBrigade.org). I believe I typed into Google “positive nihilism” or something similar, and being we live in a society that values entertainment above all else, this song was near or at the top of the search results. Never heard of the band before, but it is a catchy tune.
I love music. When people listen to music, they either hear the music front and center, or they hear the lyrics first foremost. I tend to believe that most people hear lyrics first, especially women – I have no data to back up this claim, other than my observations – melodies, harmonies and rhythms are much more complicated to understand than even our overly-complicated English language. And let’s face it, most pop-music today boils the diversity and complexity of the English language down to “I’m in love with your body” or at best the repetitive cleverness of “I’m all about that bass, that bass, that bass, no treble” which the earbud-wearing iPhone kids of today probably don’t even understand (you see, there used to be two knobs you’d adjust on this thing called a stereo).
Men were the hunters, women were the gatherers, and so for men to be successful hunters they had to listen to the chaotic noise of the forest and be able to hear the distinct sounds of the movement of his prey. It is why heavy metal concerts are mostly sausage parties – women hear noise, men hear the complex melodies, harmonies, and rhythms.
“The Happy Nihilist” is one of the few songs I listened to the lyrics first. For a poppy-sounding song about such a deep and difficult concept and philosophy as Nihilism, they are pretty good. The music itself isn’t all that interesting, but it serves its purpose in delivering the message of the lyrics. A few “Millennial Whoops” thrown in for good measure, and it could have been a hit, I guess. What the hell do I know, I’m still listening to “one-hit wonder” Dream Theater.
Here’s the lyrics to “The Happy Nihilist”:
I am a happy nihilist No absolute truth does exist When I decide to shake my fist I only got myself to blame, cause we're all players and life's the game I only take what I need I am so light on my feet I will not stop or concede I am not driven by greed No moral compass for me It's all just natural feelings Existence has no meaning There's no such thing as happy But late at night when I sleep I dream of more than I see There's something burning in me A driving need to be free Why do I sit here and think About the things that I need? There's nothing left to believe Or is it all just a dream? I've taught this to myself Piled books up on the shelf But it still hurts like hell to trust nobody else but me I've taught this to myself Piled books up on the shelf But it still hurts like hell to trust nobody else I used to read everything I used to need nothing I put my money on me I used to be something Now I can't sleep Cause I'm not happy I've taught this to myself Piled books up on the shelf But it still hurts like hell to trust nobody else but me I've taught this to myself Piled books up on the shelf But it still hurts like hell to trust nobody else Whoa x8 Why am I haunted by the metaphysical? Is it a cosmic lie or is it literal? The books I read that used to free my mind Has made me more blind but the truth I'll find it I was a happy nihilist Now I'm wondering why I exist (1, 2, 3, 4) I've taught this to myself Piled books up on the shelf But it still hurts like hell to trust nobody else but me I've taught this to myself Piled books up on the shelf But it still hurts like hell to trust nobody else but me Whoa
A few comments, pontifications and observations:
“I am a happy nihilist, No absolute truth does exist” – The statement itself is an absolute truth, so I disagree. If you say “There is no absolute truth” that is an absolute truth by definition.
“When I decide to shake my fist, I only got myself to blame, cause we’re all players and life’s the game” – he’s accepting blame for his anger at the universe and existence here. I think the cliche of calling life a game was just to rhyme with blame. Some people play checkers, a few play chess, but most just play with themselves.
“I only take what I need, I am so light on my feet, I will not stop or concede, I am not driven by greed” – this sounds like minimalism, which is a natural result of nihilism, the other natural result being hedonism. Once you figure out there really is no point and no meaning to life, ultimately, your expectations and goals are forced to change. It is very freeing to appreciate what you do have and align yourself towards the simpler things. No getting caught up in rat races for nihilists.
“No moral compass for me, It’s all just natural feelings, Existence has no meaning, There’s no such thing as happy” – Traditional morality, maybe not, but a code of ethics that aids in navigating this existence? I hope so. Sure, those ethics might be based on natural feelings or have evolved via nature to best benefit the species and ensure our success and survival as a whole, but they can also be based on reason. The meaning of existence could be as simple as existence itself, but obviously meaninglessness creeps in considering cosmic timescales and the fact that one day the sun will swallow the Earth. As far as happiness as a thing, it depends on the definition of the term. We humans evolved to laugh and love and find joy – is it all just nature selecting those traits for our survival? I don’t know. Happiness is elusive, and I don’t know that anyone is really ever truly happy in this harsh and brutal and painful existence, but there are fleeting moments when we come close to it. Is that enough to endure existence? Obviously it is, or we wouldn’t be here.
“But late at night when I sleep, I dream of more than I see, There’s something burning in me, A driving need to be free” – This is why people discover nihilism. We are not satisfied with standard answers to the questions of existence. Nietzsche wrote about nihilism being a transitory state towards something else, some greater understanding. Maybe we’ll never get there – he didn’t, so what hope do we have? – but we can try. Because we need to.
“Why do I sit here and think, About the things that I need? There’s nothing left to believe, Or is it all just a dream?” – We could be living in a simulation. Who knows? What is The Matrix?
“I’ve taught this to myself, Piled books up on the shelf, But it still hurts like hell to trust nobody else but me” – Nihilism must be self-taught, because it does free the individual from the rules and responsibilities that govern society as a whole. The Powers That Be don’t like people who are skeptical of everything, and place their faith, trust and belief in nothing. But it is exhausting to trust no one and feel like you can only depend on yourself.
“I used to read everything, I used to need nothing, I put my money on me, I used to be something” – The temptation once you understand that life and existence is ultimately meaningless is to quit striving, quit trying to become a better human, quit trying to achieve and “be something” because you know you are a speck on a speck, spiraling around a speck, hurtling through a vast universe (or even universes). The timescale is infinite and the memory of the universe is short. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. When you believe your life has a point and purpose, you bet on yourself to win (whatever that is) or die trying (the only thing that is guaranteed), because no one else is going to do it for you. We need a purpose, even if it is to fully understand and accept that existence is ultimately meaningless. What do we do with that understanding?
“Now I can’t sleep, Cause I’m not happy” – Oh boo hoo! There is great freedom in nihilism, if you choose it. If you can’t sleep, go to the gym and work those muscles the way they were designed to be worked, and knock yourself out for the night via physical exhaustion. Sure, even if you get into shape, ultimately you’re going to grow old, shrink, become weakened, and die – but it matters now, doesn’t it?
“Whoa x8” – Millennial Whoop appealing to hipsters.
“Why am I haunted by the metaphysical? Is it a cosmic lie or is it literal? The books I read that used to free my mind, Has made me more blind but the truth I’ll find it” – Maybe he’s pushing through nihilism here, or trying to, to find out what is on the other side, if there is an other side. Nietzsche considered people who did so “ubermenschen” or “supermen.” A better translation of the word is “over-men,” above the rest of humanity on a higher level. A wise man knows that he knows nothing, to paraphrase Socrates.
“I was a happy nihilist Now I’m wondering why I exist” – Nihilism is not the end. It is a transition. We should never be happy with where we are at. We should strive and search for more, even if we don’t know what that “more” is or if it even exists. Dare I say it, it’s about the “journey” (ugh), even if we circle around to where we started.
“Whoa” – Indeed.
I hate the word “journey.”
The title above is the default first post title when creating a new blog via WordPress.com. The fact that it is the default title really tells you all you need to know about society today and humanity writ-large. Imagine in hushed tones: “Yes, my journey begins on this blog, as I sit in my underwear in my mom’s basement, eating Cheetos and pontificating about shit I have no right to pontificate about, and maybe having the gall to dispense advice or wisdom I have no idea whether legitimate or not, but what the fuck, amirite? When in Rome! I have no life experience. I have no accomplishments. But you don’t know that, so I’ll speak my truth, whether it is based in fact at all, because I heard or read it one time from some dude who may or may not have any credibility, and it felt right to me. So follow me, as I go on my journey, journeying to places or ideas or even just shit I just make up, and I’ll journal along the way on my journey, and maybe I’ll wear a jersey on my journey, and maybe I’m from New Jersey wearing my jersey on my journey, eating beef jerky while I serve on life’s jury deciding whether it is guilty or innocent…”
The Happy Nihilist website will be geared towards finding meaning in an ultimately meaningless existence, and as a consequence achieving a happiness rooted in truth as opposed to pretty little lies. As Friedrich Nietzsche predicted, once realizing “God is dead, and we killed Him,” humanity would undergo a “crisis of nihilism,” and we would need to struggle through it, reevaluate our values through the power of our will, and somehow come out on the other side ubermenschen or “supermen.” Nietzsche never claimed to achieve this status, and in the later years of his life went mad as a result of syphilis and died after suffering multiple strokes.
I have no intention of contracting syphilis. I’d rather not go mad, but as Norman Bates said: “We all go a little mad sometimes.” Especially in today’s batshit crazy world. I know I will die someday (maybe even tomorrow, who knows?) and there are worse ways to go than a stroke, but as the great Carl Spackler once said, I’d prefer to “on my deathbed, achieve total consciousness.”
Below is a default quote from WordPress.com to make you feel all warm inside, and a photo of what looks like the point-of-view of someone who is drowning at sunset, or sunrise, depending on the coast.
“So I’ve got that goin’ for me, which is nice.”
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton