I Don’t Like Nihilism

I honestly don’t know if fatalism and nihilism go hand in hand for the average bear (spare the irony), but it seems so for me.

Ofttimes when I’m out in a crowd, there’s a certain something that hits me and makes me want to turn tail and run. Run from? Maybe. Run to? Maybe. Yes, it’s confusing for me, too. But I run nonetheless.

The introverted might identify with this, but I’m certainly no introvert. Some might choose to interpret this as a sea-change, but not me: the extrovert makes the startling self-discovery? I promise that it’s nothing to do with that.

You’re out with your friends in a crowd and you look about and you see various levels of commingling and some you find distasteful and some you find inappropriate. Still others you find ridiculous, which sometimes over time becomes just boring. And other times it refuses to become boring background and instead just digs at you. And when you find yourself wishing for less-interesting times, you know something’s fucked.

You see the couplings, in various forms of prurience and undress—but never redress, I’ve noticed—and you wonder if this is really all there is. And you stop short of asking: “Is it?” because you can’t fathom life after you get an answer to something like that.

This is the point where the weaker-souled turn to cosmic crutches. But for me? I’d rather lavage than be suborned. Short-term solutions to long-term problems and all that. That’s the the flip-side of the existential-angst condition, the one that no one notices: the bird’s eye view of the lack of meaning lends a meaning all its own. That same 10,000 ft view also lends distance, didn’t you know?

And it’s that faraway point of view that makes you feel like a man apart, wishing that there was that someone-other who knows how to span the distance, even if just to say hello.

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