1 The Novacaine Consensus

I don't know anything about the world but I'm certain of two things: everything is dying and I wish to spontaneously combust.

Yes, I'm probably the world's most pessimistic nihilist – to quote Lou Reed: "I have made the big decision; I'm gonna try to nullify my life" - and am quite gassy about this fact. Just as Jehovah's Witnesses feel inclined to speak on God's "miraculous" wonders, I feel a sense of responsibility in reinstating to people how useless and fucking absurd it is to live in a huge agglomerated clump of land in the middle of who knows where at a point of who knows when coursing towards the center of who knows what kind of cosmic rectum.

When I was a baby, the doctors had to prematurely cut my mom's umbilical cord from the inside. I had strangled the only thing that kept me alive, and by the time they found out, I was chokingly purple. I knew then that life wasn't worth a dime.

Countless times I've told my mom, "Why are you all fine with popping down the ice-cream shop to get some Vanilla flavored ice-cream biscuit stuff and pretend any of this makes sense." but she just shrugs like I'm an omelet. "Son, you're still young. When you're an adult, you'll understand."

I am now 18, an adult, and have become exponentially confused.

My father, perhaps, would say the same thing, except for the very fact that, he doesn't speak. To him being silent means to force oblivion to himself, and to force oblivion to oneself means starting a rebellion. Or so at least what I see when I look at his face. My father is deaf.

Andbutso, here's the dilemma: If my family's own being is just a cover-up trick by god-knows-who to deflect my brain out of existential dread and the pang of living, what then is becoming of this whole conundrum – that everything is useless and everything shouldn't even have been here in the first place – in contrast to the greater schematics of things, as what they say, if there even was one?

Quite the predicament.

I call it the Novacaine Consensus.

So what do I do with it? Nothing. How do I go about it? I don't know.

Maybe that's why I'm sitting on the edge of an abandoned parking building's top floor: to find out.

Consider this, when you carefully disintegrate the fragments that make up life - petting your malnourished Corgi, getting a new pair of Jordan 11s, or holding hands with your girlfriend at night - you'll realize how strange it is that we choose to alter brain chemistry just to satisfy this illusion of success - which is scaled childishly on arbitrarily assigned socio-economic standards - without even facing the unreasonable humanitarian need for completeness and the constant struggle for self-actualization that comes with it.

"Hi? Yea, this is brain and rational thought. I need an Uber please."

"Hello, I'm close. Where are you?"

"Oh, I see you."

"Are you the guy in the middle of the road?"

"Yeah, floor the fuck out of it."

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The whole time I've been here, must have been 2 or 3 hours, I've been contemplating about hurtling myself towards The Great Descent, however, every time I look, I become more convinced that I have got a lot to consider: maybe I should finish that Yankee Hotel or something album. Or read a few more of Heidegger's stuff. Or write a commentary on how humanity is toast. Either way, I feel like whiting out of this one.

Jumping was not actually the plan, per se - I was waiting for a deus ex machina and have God's foot soldiers push me off the ledge.

With my feet dangling, I look up and see the beauty of Dauntly Hill's cityscape. The world is a magnificent simulacrum of life, that's no doubt; it's just that my eyeballs have been gouged the fuck out by reality. Sometimes, I wish I could go to a restaurant in Mars, you know: good food, good wine, a perfect fucking view of the earth and the complete nonexistence of a breathable atmosphere.