Call of the Void

Sitting in the front yard, reading the book of disquiet, smoking a cigar, and drinking soda water with slices of lemon.
(Originally Written 17 July 2023 and uploaded on August 1st)

As I’m reading this book, I’m struck by the fact that I gravitate toward things that make me feel more depressed than I already am. Counterintuitively, exposing myself to these stimuli, more often than not, results in a feeling of fulfillment that I can’t explain. It’s as if I can either choose to be happy, or to be sane, but not both. To be happy is to ignore the world around me, ignore the futility of trying to do anything, only to die alongside everyone else who has ever lived, and pretend that everything is fine, and there is some point to all this. To “imagine Sisyphus happy” as Camus would say. Maybe the fulfillment comes from reinforcing a view of the world I already have. Reading on the depressed reflections of others assures me that I’m not the only one. Others have walked this path too, and that comforts me.

Imagining Sisyphus happy is ignoring the entire point of the story of Sisyphus, who’s task IS pointless. Imagining him happy does nothing for the reality of the situation. It is the quintessential example of nihilism, imagining something untrue of an analogical story is meaningless and renders the story meaningless. The story was composed to illustrate something specific, and imagining it differently is missing the point. I’m sorry, Camus, but imagining Sisyphus happy is like trying to think about the sound of one hand clapping. It’s trying to create meaning where there is none to be had.