Some nights are more difficult than others to get the motivation to write. The cold. The long day at work. The perception of meaningless life. They are all guilty parties in a conspiracy to silence the word! After all, bed and warm covers are very inviting while the question remains why bother?
The question may seem simplistic, almost vulgar in its presentation but has a deep philosophical implication. If we do not bother, we will find ourselves on the road to self-annihilation. But the fixated observation of existence in abstract without religious dressing or spiritual padding leads, unavoidably, to nihilism in its most practical form. Void!
The problem with this paradoxical nature of existence is that religious dressing and spiritual padding do not go beyond the fact that they are just that, dressing and padding. The void stays inside. The only difference to be observed is in the nature of that void between infinity and finite definition of its boundaries. The impact of this change in the infinity nature of void is how hypocrites do we become as units of existence with pretended conciseness.
Void, nihilism, religion, hypocritical pretenses are all of no use for a night in the cold. They do not inspire nor cheer but love, oh! love, does the miracle. Even love with an honestly peeled and stripped prostitute is far better than the smily garments of wrapped up religion and the cold loneliness of naked nihilism. Both obsessed with selfishness.