Rochester Is Killing Me

Right now I am trying to read Baudrillard -- it's not working too well. This is because I am too deep in the simulacra. I've been watching too much television and not doing enough work. I don't think I'll ever be able to do what I consider to be enough work. It's really quite odd if you stop and think about what Baudrillard is trying to get at; what is "real" or what is just an attempt to create a symbolic real out of something that was never real in the first place. I know this doesn't really make any sense but the big bad scary internet isn't really interested in what I have to say.

Well on a completely separate but not entirely different note; what the past month's events have taught me is that possibly the only thing I can take any semblance of comfort out of is that I really am a nihilist. Not the absolute harshness of nihilist that everyone thinks that Nietzsche wrote about but the one where humanity has killed god through their love of the simulacra. (See not so different) God no longer exists because the real representation or symbol of god is gone and is substituted with an artificial symbol of what we wanted the first symbol to be. The death of god is celebrated everyday because we no longer attempt transcendence. Anyway, the comfort part is that I am a romantic nihilist -- transcendence is possible but can not be found in the culture we live in.