Ten Types Of People Get Killed On Sunday
What is the loss of meaning?
The art of identity is that it first takes a toll on your conscience before doing the same to your senses. A clever way to have your cake and eat it too is to believe in your own honesty, or at least have enough enthusiasm to say that some parts of your life have given you some parts of yourself. What happens when learning too much about yourself causes you to change your outlook in life or worse still, question your morality? The answer is quite simple, it’s time to leave your memory and past and proceed into the knowingly unknowingly maze of ‘le existential crisis’.
Ten types of people die on Sunday — the eleventh not killed is the person who doesn’t ‘not give a fuck’ but the person whose fucks exist only to himself. His loss of meaning in his existential crisis helps him keep his instincts in check and life unpredictable, even if he seems closer to being a ghost than making his life worthwhile. His call to reason is not a search for meaning, but the destroying of meaning. The void in himself, by common logic, is not a brief obstacle in his life but a chance to stay still in his now uncertain sense of being.
The loss of meaning then, to the uninitiated, is a de-stabilizing of faith to inculcate the obscenity of adulthood identity into everyday living. An existential crisis leads to debilitating senses and is a good reason to why a person’s anxiety in this situation could very well be lifted by granting a little more freedom to one’s perception. The eleventh will go the longer but wiser path by taking his conversation with himself just a little further and choosing to override his circumstance by foregoing his identity over his natural perception.
In conclusion, identity is something to be done away with the moment it begins to breed. Meaning correlates and finds its power in you like the laws of physics, but its evil twin will tug and pull until its just not fun anymore.