Yes. This is much how it is. I, we, you, they waltz through the barren field of existence. Like tiny pods of being. Entities of nothingness if you will. The travels through life consist mainly of limiting pain. Sipping coffee. Getting ever closer to death.
What to do? I hear someone asking. Well, one might for instance go to Juan les Pins for the Jazz a Juan third week of July. Wayne Shorter plays. Spend days sitting at cafès sipping Java black, smoking Gauloises and sketching the next novel. The next novel, which is to be a dive into existentialism. That Glasper Experiment will also be there at Juan. You know, jazz is the only music I can stand for longer periods of time. I think it is because jazz is like a musical representation of existentialism. It's all up to the cats. What note goes here, or there, or nowhere. All improvised harmoniously disrespectful. It somehow negates nothingness. Like a Solipsistically awkward nihilist nightmare.
It's all as it should be. Nothing really matters. It is mostly suffering. And coffee. And Gauloises.
Time for a cigarette. Until later.