Is there, Dylan?  Is there really more to life?

Obviously, I have turned my blog page into something that is purely for my own amusement.  Those who used to enjoy my writing before it became laser-focused on an obscure teen soap opera have either politely stuck around in the hopes that I’ll become bored of this soon or just stopped reading altogether, which is exactly what I expected.  But if you do fall into either of those camps, this post is for you.

As I’ve already said, I have completely resigned myself to the fact that people are silly animals with an unjustified sense of importance and a flair for shooting themselves in the foot over and over and over again.  These days, this realization has aboot as much of an emotional impact on me as the fact that slugs have four noses (they do!).  It’s just something that’s true.  If I refrain from making them so, such things are neither good nor bad, spiritual nor vulgar.  They just are.

Morality is the ultimate expression of human self-importance.  Our behavior is not scrutinized by some supernatural entity ootside of ourselves, nor does the Universe engage in value judgments.  Sorry, folks, but that’s just the way it is.  If you don’t like it, blame Werner Heisenberg, but don’t blame god because that’s just silly.  That being said, it would be just as ridiculous for me to behave in ways that don’t conform to my (ever-changing) nature, so guilt-averse as I am, I still try to live according to Gandhi’s famous philosophy of “Ahimsa” (non-harm), not from any religious or spiritual basis but just to minimize my own suffering that seems to increase when I intentionally hurt people.  This isn’t admirable or right – in fact, if you re-read the last sentence, you’ll see that it is, like all possible choices a person can make, motivated by self-interest.

The always thought-provoking Anony Mole opined in a recent post that the only worthwhile human pursuits are those of food, sex, rush (excitement), and chill (relaxation).  I commented that I agree with 50% of his list – food and chill.  Food, along with water and oxygen, are of course the only real basic human needs.  The possible import of anything else is entirely dependent upon the individual, particularly the ego of the individual.  Therefore, when someone is complaining that, say, their emotional or sexual or romantic “needs” aren’t being met, I counter with a line from the late, great George Carlin: “Then get rid of some of your needs.”

As far as the “need” for the occasional rush of excitement for excitement’s sake, I understand but am no longer driven to seek it oot and this may just indicate that I’m fucking old and exhausted.  My first half century of life has often been difficult, but before anyone sheds a tear, remember that such difficulties were always my own creation.  And I can’t sit here and claim that I’m not jaded, so I guess those pursuits that still get a rise oot of most folks just seem to me to require a pointless amount of effort for zero reward.  I like sittin’ and starin’.  Others like to bungee jump and skydive.  Whatever floats yer scrote.

Sex is a little more complicated.  I have never had the desire to reproduce, but I used to be saddled with a libido that could power several hadron colliders.  Age is almost certainly a factor in the weakening of that drive, but of course, philosophy and psychology have played crucial roles, too.   I haven’t abandoned the possibility that I may yet again find someone worth dating and/or boinking, but I also don’t spend any time trying to anticipate it.  A friend recently asked me how I was able to suddenly adopt such a nonchalant attitude aboot something that holds such a high position of importance for most people below the age of 80 and I had a simple answer at the tip of my tongue: remove your ego from the equation entirely, then tell me how much of a “need” an overactive libido constitutes.  Very few of us realize that the actual sexual physiological response is usually an expression of the ego above all else.  We utilize our partners to fill us with a sense of worth and desirability, which is why rejection so often causes such violent visceral reactions from those who feel spurned.  But what aboot those of us who have analyzed the importance and meaning right oot of the notions of personal worth and desirability?  As unbelievable as this may sound to most readers, especially those harboring under-deployed rockets in their pockets, the notion of sex becomes something that’s available should I decide to put oot the effort to obtain it – kind of like a nice Granny Smith apple.  If I’m denied a specific opportunity to eat an apple, does that mean my apple needs haven’t been met?  Of course not.  That’s fucking ridiculous.  And so is the self-torturous approach to sex that’s shared by the majority of people.  Mind you, it’s nothing to avoid, it’s not intrinsically immoral, and fuck, it’s just plain fun.  But what it’s not is necessary, just like the very perpetuation of our defective species.

So I guess what all this means is that I have officially embraced nihilism, albeit of a somewhat compassionate sort.  We have an illiterate buffoon governing the country not because evil is getting a foothold over goodness or any such lofty explanation, but because Americans are so fucking stupid, stubborn, self-important, cowardly and insecure that they actually chose to elect him.  There ain’t shit any of us can do aboot that.  It’s the very nature of the beast that we are.  Therefore, I won’t spare it another thought.  And why would I when there are still 58 episodes of Fifteen left to dissect?   Embrace your intrinsic meaningless and ridiculousness, my friends.  They’re literally all you’ve got.