A Post-Nihilist’s Twisted Rebirth of Desire

Ever after countless thoughts of life’s absurdity and how meaning is all a joke we must embrace to continue life, it is somewhat ironic to see that the long faded axis of two polars still gives a lust for nostalgia through its ghost form on our minds. Some of us might be young, but after the long walk nobody else knew we did, there is a silent and scary call from the past for rebirth, no matter how scary you know your childhood was.

Even after knowing for sure the fact that one is merely one among any, moving in chaotic directions, driven with fogs of will from a grand reverie, one still wants. And in every desire lies a conception of something better than what is – no matter how unknown the heart’s goal is.

And that goal, as one shall have assumed by now, would be to matter. A classic, tedious theme of human anxiety whose redundancy chokes you until you want to puke so bad, but you need it as some things are, amidst the relativity and the chaos, inevitable. It might not be pre-ordained, since the presence beneath all the causes and consequences has its existence questionable with, having deadlocked path of faith as the sole access, no solid answer to be found.

How ridiculous it is to think about this existential problem. To matter is something that everybody wants, thus the heart’s one idol  - with its infinite forms – is something that should have been obsolete a long time ago. But regardless what your backgrounds are, this is something all of us long for.

Some of us have felt the horror from the violence committed by a horrible antagonist, and when we were kids, we did condemn them, making a soft pulse within our neurons which, in a language unutterable, said, “I am not going to be that kind of person”. As we grew up, we do realize that even the wretched and twisted Jigsaw killer has more meaning than some of us feel we are. And after the past honest realization that we could never be the heroes, we have now also realized that even to the grotesque souls, we are nothing. And sometimes, meaninglessness is not in between the light and the dark. The world is more than an arguably hypothetical two dimensional realms. It is far below them.

And this is why few of us might understand that we would do anything just to transcend this hollow state of nothingness, even if it murders the flickring parts of our souls each day. As one of this race’s contemporary poet says, “you bleed to know you’re alive.”

In this level of desperation (that not everyone will understand), the equipment of moral confusion and disbelief is a few steps away from what society condemns and what ethics loathes. Suicide is one of the most overrated doors, and a wise thinker a couple of decades ago did say that this will never be the answer. At first, one does not intend harm to any others. But thinking of how humanity fails and common sense is something far out of reach for conceited morons that we are, there are triggers to violent acts which end in a far-from-noble, literal bloodbath.

To distract these, a person escapes to sloth, lust and gluttony. Even after departing long from an omniscient being which, in your illusion, controls how one sees the world in black and white, there are circumstances in which the trio are not gray. With sufficient contemplation, even in despair, sometimes their ugliness is (contrary to social construction’s vague fogs) tangible for one’s weak-pulsed heart. And so the transformation began. One was too blind to see the good which dwelled in his pictorial memento, and Dorian Gray is a story too familiar to deny.

But once again, beneath all the dark, unfathomable masks of will, the primary source of all desperate thoughts is to matter. In a trapped, stagnant condition, what would a postnihilist really want?

The impossible.

Image taken from http://www.danielfryer.com