Write a blog post? Something uplifting to inspire other authors?
Why?
What is the point?
In the vast expanse of existence, where the stars flicker in indifference and the cosmos echoes with the silence of meaninglessness, there exists a solitary figure, burdened with the task of creation. That figure is me, a depressed nihilist, staring at a blank page, grappling with the futile endeavor of writing.
Writing, they say, is a form of expression, a means to communicate thoughts and feelings. But what thoughts can I communicate, and what feelings can I convey, in a world devoid of inherent significance? The words I type onto this screen seem hollow, devoid of substance, like echoes in an empty void.
Every keystroke feels like a Sisyphean task, a futile attempt to imbue meaning into a world that inherently lacks it. What purpose does my writing serve in a universe that operates on the indifferent laws of physics, devoid of cosmic significance or divine purpose?
The weight of existence bears down upon me, crushing my spirit with its sheer indifference. The blank page mocks me, a reflection of the emptiness that pervades my soul. I am but a speck of dust in the vast cosmic arena, my existence fleeting and inconsequential.
Yet, despite my existential despair, I am compelled to write. Perhaps it is the last vestige of defiance in the face of absurdity, a futile rebellion against the meaningless void. Or perhaps it is simply a habit, a routine ingrained in my weary bones, a distraction from the relentless march of time towards oblivion.
