I’ve always noticed my perception has been tainted with a subtle hint of nihilism since I discovered God.
God, in It’s own, absolutely can be a reason for living and honestly may only be my own.
However, God again is the definition of nihilism; a bunch of everything everywhere at once. A chaotic order just happening. It’s purpose? Nothing we’d be able to understand in this life anyway.
So, what’s the point? I think the meaning of life is non-existent and is up to the perceiver. There is no definitive answer.
And that’s why I don’t mind if you think the reason for things is this or that.
I think it’s all subjective.
After writing honestly online for years, the only feedback that has stuck with me is that my writing is a bit sad. Always has been. And with that, I’ve always tried to add some optimism into it to lighten the mood. Or write myself into someone who doesn’t see the glass as half empty.
Truth is, I could care less for the glass. Whether it’s empty or full, doesn’t matter to me. In fact, the glass doesn’t exist and neither does the perceiver. It just is.
And I won’t change my writing to seem like I’m someone else and everything is going to be ok.
Bukowski is my favorite poet and my favorite book is Catcher in the Rye from the moment I read it and now I can see why. I won’t change my writing.
There is a “positive” aspect to life and I think that’s great and you should immerse yourself in that.
But my life, my art, my words, stem from the longing that resides within my heart. The everlasting emptiness I’ll forever hold, the loneliness I may or may not to choose to have; that is what keeps me going.
And if you’re looking for someone to fill your glass whole or show you greener pastures; I could be your poet. I could be your artist. But you must not let the storms get to you.
The rain has always felt nice to me.
-Natalia