Nothing To Say

I have nothing to say. It’s quite interesting that I have nothing to say, and in fact the very presence of words on this screen signifies that I do indeed have something to say, it is just waiting to come out. The very idea of nothing is in fact something, although this something is in fact, nothing.

What is nothing? I don’t know, I don’t think questions make sense in the universe. Nothing makes sense in the universe, it’s not supposed to. Why would the universe make sense to humans? We just see things they way we want to, the way we’re bred and brought up to. You can’t put a grid over chaos, it doesn’t work like that. It’s not even chaos, it’s beyond words, language, emotion, sight, color, art, feelings, the universe is so much more than that.

The scale of everything is so large that something, anything at all, pales in comparison to the vast infinity that is the universe. The universe is so large, in fact, that it seems not to exist at all. It’s said that two straight lines eventually meet, and although I don’t know if that’s true or not, it certainly makes sense. Nothing and everything are one in the same, polar opposites are in fact polar twins. Everything comes full circle for there is no circle at all.

Relativity destroys everything, without absolutes you slide into a hole of relative nothingness. There must be a balance between relativity and absolutes, but being human I am still restrained to our strained perceptions of even the most basic concepts of “relativity” and “absolutes”. What is absolute? It’s not something present in nature, it’s something we’ve made up. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing isn’t present in nature, either, how could it be? By it’s very nature nothing doesn’t exist. But none of this matters, this is all just semantics, word play. You can run over words trying to find a meaning, but when you get stuck up on your language you forget your substance, and it all dissolves away into aether.

None of this makes sense. It strives to make sense, I strive to make sense of everything. How can I do this? I can not. How do I know I can not? I don’t even know that. What do I know? Who am I? What am I? What is “I”?

Surely I am not a thing, if there even is such a thing as “thing”, I am a collective. Or maybe I’m not. I’m questioning every basic tenet and facet of life, slowly everything is falling away. I’ve pulled a vital piece away from the master construction, the great veil over our eyes has been dropped like a jenga tower. The iron curtain, a curtain that exists only in our minds.

Everything is gone, embrace nothingness.