Nihilism (From the Latin nihil, nothing) is a philosophical position which argues that the world, especially past and current human existence, is without objective meaning, purpose, comprehensible truth, or essential value. Nihilists generally assert some or all of the following: there is no reasonable proof of the existence of a higher ruler or creator, a "true morality" is unknown, and secular ethics are impossible; therefore, life has no truth, and no action is known to be preferable to any other.

A dim light weakly scatters the darkness in a concrete room. A man speaks.

"Like every other paranoid American on the land mass, I can't get enough of American Idol."

He steps directly under the light.

"'But I'm unique!' a girl cries after being rejected, 'I could be the only American idol ever who doesn't know how to sing!'"

A malevolent smirk spreads across this face as he lights a cigarette.

"That's not how it works, sweetheart. My ears aren't nihilists. I'm afraid you couldn't find a friendly ear amongst the Dada or the Deaf."

He begins to pace back and forth beneath the slowly counter-pointing swing of the solitary light.

"She thinks her particular style of non-adherence to any standards makes her unique - that subtleties amounting to badness are just as acceptable as well-placed, well-timed, soulful, polished, resonant and practiced notes in their prescribed order. Three thousand years of science and thousands more of primal energy are cast aside in a bold, unrealistic, swipe at stardom."

He lets out a derisive guffaw along with a cloud of nicotine and tar.

"She finds the judges rude for being hung over. Trying to keep entertainers away from alcohol is like trying to entertain a sober audience with inferior mediocrity, but she's rude. She's rude for not even thinking that she might be the rude one. Melt into ubiquity, uncommonly deranged girl."

The sound of grit on hard leather soles echoes through the space. The man stares blankly at the wall, speaking quietly now.

"There is a reason that I don't have any rocks in my car: I threw them all. There are a lot of bad drivers around here. That was an only an enthymeme."

He produces a wooden chair from the blackness taking a seat where light avoids his face.

"I visit my family in the summer. I don't understand my older cousins, nor do they understand me. The younger ones love me (or at least I like to think so) because I'm an adult who will listen and respond. Some time – some attention – is all they want, and I entertain."

He pauses to breathe the smoke. His voice belies a gentle smile.

"I prefer other people's children to thoughts of raising my own: give them back to the adults they belong to if they get out of hand."

"Grandpa is the only adult I particularly like more than the other adults. He entertains me and my questions. He tells thrice the history of his house, their block, his life, and half of my genesis as we sit alone, before a house full of children. He speaks poorly of some of his own children, and they speak poorly of him. Family forms prejudice, and now he sits by as they treat him like an old man. Some of them have experienced selflessness, others selfishness, few balance the two. So this baby booming, hyperprogenizing, formerly farming, son of a man who died while picking up a horse for fun, Naval Boxer might have a great offspring average if he was a batter instead. He has no more or less right to complain than they do."

The man stands to his feet moving slowly behind the chair. He grips the back.

"We find solace and solidarity in conversing, yet. Our bond is only a matter of timing and circumstance. He asks if I'm an alcoholic and I tell him it's only because I'm on vacation. He likes beer. I like a handful."

"And still, I watch myself as I give preference to the child with the clearest speech or the youngest age or the funniest demeanor. I know better than to make fun of the spoiled child who only consumes processed garbage, but I don't refuse to pick him up and carry him to be mean. I know better than to strike the demon I've secretly diagnosed as autistic, but I want to strangle him when he strikes my kin."

The man seems agitated. He grabs the chair and pulls it out of the light. It rests in the corner while he brings the cigarette to his lips. He draws several times exhaling through his nose as he says,

"The fisher men idle, drink, talk and smoke as they wait for something that isn't dinner. They aren't catching anything, and they aren't all sitting together. They aren’t anti-social; they're just individuals. There is a poker game they're missing out on."

"The homeless drummer beats on his jagged, dirty buckets and I watch in amazement for some time. He looks up, thinks nothing of the fuzzy-headed rascal before him, and returns his eyes to the flailing."

"The lovers sit tangled in each other. They don't remind me of loneliness, but still of nouns that I'd generally like to forget."

He casts his gaze on the darkened chair.

"And so I reach the pier's end and look out at the gently glowing atmosphere, which hides the rest of existence from sight."

I enjoyed this. just tried to give it a different dynamic.

Scott

Nihilism