Thursday, March 12, 2015

A Day in the Life of a Nihilist

Man is a self-conscious nothing. A fluke. An unnatural genetic mutation. I get out of bed and make myself a bowl of corn pops. They are delicious, but they mean nothing.

The amount of suffering that occurs during existence is infinite. Nonexistence would be preferable. Life is a gift that we did not ask for. I get so pissed when bad weather takes out my satellite because I can't watch Charmed, and, come on, twenty-year-old Shannon Doherty was smoking, am I right? Alyssa Milano wasn't bad, either.

We are puppets not aware of our strings. We hide our fears of death and meaninglessness by conjuring up benevolent deities that can't possibly exist. This is what I tell the Jehovah's Witnesses when they knock at my door. They mention that Prince is one of their congregation. I have nothing clever to say to that.

The human race should conspire to never birth another soul into existence. We must pay for our sins, our gross freakishness. This is what I tell the child I meet on the street. There seems to be no comprehension in his diminutive eyes.

I consider lighting a candle for the obscure Norwegian philosopher Peter Zapffe, but the thought of such a uselessly emotional act sickens me. I order a pizza instead with extra cheese.

Schopenhauer wrote at length about "the Will to Power." He should've written about "the Will to die," which is our only natural right. I'm thinking about getting a tattoo of a dragon on my ankle. Is that weird? It would be so cool, though.

No intelligent person refers to himself as a "nihilist." We prefer the term "pessimist." We are critics of the human race, of human ambition, of human meaning. I have a whole Youtube channel devoted to this. Will you fund my Kickstarter project? I need to eat somehow.  

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