January 16, 2008

In Pursuit of Nothingness

Given my penchant in the past couple years for alternating between nonsensical discussions of soul-crushing existential angst and inexplicable idolatry of quixotic lawlessness, intrepid readers might be left wondering why I have not yet collapsed in heap of self-induced moral turpitude and cognitive dissonance. Is my consummate inadequacy and general worthlessness of such a prolific magnitude that, having wandered aimlessly onto a path of self-destruction many years ago, I cannot even seem to muster the talent or skill required to properly follow that path to its natural conclusion? Am I really so impotent as to be incapable of fulfilling as trivial a task as ruining my (necessarily futile) existence? Perhaps, as readers enamored by (foolish) notions of love and happiness have observed, I have simply not yet met the proverbial right woman. I am skeptical, however. The way I see it, ruination, like contentment, cannot be effected from without; it must be wrought from within. [...]