/lit/ - Literature

It's astonishing how all the imperious projects and insistent attempts to remake the world, from gigantic marching armies and heated demagogues riling up the masses to drastic clanking industrial revolutions all sum up to an inaudible pip in the cosmic void.

It comes as a relief really, knowing that ultimately none of it matters, that entropy always wins out in the end, and everything just sort of goes poof at some point. Because if it did matter, and it did turn out that were were here on earth working out some kind of involuted hidden equation for the fulfillment of reality by passing on the fire of life to the next generations, by going through the motions, by exhausting some of the total possibilities in the prosecution of day to day affairs, by contributing a little piece here or there to the big picture, suddenly life becomes a double burden. You've got a role to play out, even if your role is to get hit by a bus.

All told I believe stopping to reflect on this truth points to a flaw in human consciousness. Like Zapffe's metaphor of the Elk whose antlers grow too big and end up weighing its head down. Because we're not supposed to stop and reflect on this, we're supposed to be wholly enthusiastic about, invested in, and committed to our own lives and infatuated with other people and the things they do as if it's all the most compelling business.

We're supposed to enjoy meals, cuddle, crack jokes, have sex and fall in love without stopping to question any of it. Wondering why is a mistake.

If you stop for a moment to question the foundations of everything you've slipped out of the mesh of make believe that keeps everyone purring along and upon which civilization is founded.

What do you do once you've already made this mistake? Simple, you forget about it and go back to feeling that your own life and goals are important. Unlike the elk we can saw off our overgrown antlers.