The most grueling task in life is to ascribe meaning to existence. This is especially true for those of us who see falsity in prefabricated doctrines of moral righteousness and omniscient creators. Instead, I see god through my viewfinder & at the bottom of 40s. I feel heaven in bed with someone who smiles and at the sound of my pencil scratching paper. I pray through prose and legnthy cigarette drags.
In science, we explain phenomenon using 'Occam's Razor,' or, the notion that the simplest hypothesis is usually correct; the explanation including the fewest assumptions almost always holds true. I have come to apply this to philosophy as well. I cannot see heaven or hell, God, or magic. But I can look to the sky and see endless accumulations of hydrogen and helium--a universe without boundaries. So, there's no meaning to life. Or existence. The fact that we are here and alive is one big strike of luck: the Great Coincidence. But we are here nonetheless.
To ascribe meaning to my own life, I must continue to do what I find holy: make art, make love, cause trouble, say yes, give everyone a chance, stay up late, drink too much, killy myself slowly, and wake up in the middle of the night to write nonsense. Until I die.
Ilford Delta 400 // Nikon N90S // Philadelphia & NYC
