angwuw7

[angwuw7]

no longer doodoo

Don't know how Tumblr works, treating it like a blog.

We all know Dazai Osamu is another one of those hip, edgy-type novelists that pubescent, depressive young men read in-between watching sad anime edits and scrawling depressive song quotes on the backs of scraps of paper – I was guilty of this. At like 12 when I first entered year 8, that is.

I read Satre, Camus, Hemmingway, and Beckett, blahblah, and mooched around while fantasising a depressing, anti-social life. Really thought I was peak intelligent at the age of 12. I’m re-reading Osamu (now that I’m out of the age to be wowed by him) and have only gotten up to finishing No Longer Human. To be honest, I really don’t understand what the hype behind this novel was and why I felt the need to conform to what TikTok enforced upon me to view it as.

I’ll be honest, though, Osamu’s novel was mainly what got me into Asian literature and a lot of the existentialist and nihilistic notions I consumed as a younger kid have stuck with me. I still believe – because it’s rationally true – that life has no inherent purpose; that existence is arbitrary, pointless, and empty, but I don’t agree with this as a constructive mode of thought or “route to happiness.” There’s no god or deep meaning; no true good, bad, or evil (thanks Nietzsche), love is a societal construct and as is all notions of morality. The only thing that exists is the body. We restrict ourselves and those around us because we want to, not because we should and not because it’s intrinsically right. There’s no concrete truth in human rights; no actual higher authority to please. Everything and everything are futile.

Camus, Osamu, Nietzsche, Satre, and Beckett really thought that all of that was interesting enough to publish a couple books about – it’s not.

Years of my life were spent unhappy because I felt that I wasn’t achieving as much I should and could have (etc.), but I eventually realised that NONE OF IT MATTERS!!!! The world’s future doesn’t depend on me, and even if there were unfortunate descendants of mine, or someone I saved from a house fire that went on to invent some insane rocket that was able to blast us into a black whole or help us transcend beyond our species, whatever. If any of these things ever happened it wouldn’t matter, because that doesn’t matter. All of this is pointless. No meaning, no plan, no destiny.

The only thing wrong with this ideology is that a lot of people with this mindset dwell on it; use it as an excuse to be a sorry piece of shit and do fuck all, or justify cruel, selfish behaviour. This is bullshit. Everything’s nothingness shouldn’t confine one into fear. Yes, you’re small and insignificant, but isn’t that liberating? Whether commendable or atrocious, your actions hold no greater significance than how they impact – whether directly or indirectly – your life. And being compassionate, kind, and sympathetic makes one feel far happier and more satisfied than pleasure-seeking, hedonistic, shallow, abandon.

None of it matters, but that’s not an excuse to not give a fuck. We live in a society, not in caves, so transactions must be made: Do you want to grow and farm everything you eat for yourself, or exist in a system where others do it for with a system of money-based exchange? Not ideal, and while life isn’t perfect it’s all everything anyone actually has.

Making fun of others, involving yourself in drama, you can really tell that individuals involved in such really have nothing better to do and, consequently, should be of no value to you.

I’m rambling, but that’s my philosophy, anyways.

I just don’t feel that there is much value in discussing ideas such as this.

What is the meaning of life? Why do I act the way I act? Is there value to anything? Osamu’s novel is all about this.

It’s all about what it means to be and feel human. Food? Sex? Marriage? Money? These concepts aren’t that interesting for me. At least, not to dwell on.

Oh yeah, and that one quote that went around on the BSD edits “is there really any value to this thing we call living?” Like. Come on. Never understood the idea of committing suicide to determine the value of life. You’ll die later anyways and find out then.

The protagonist is some miserable over-thinker who wanders around and feels ostracised from society, doing little, living little. Yawn. Dry. Uninspiring. It over-intellectualises something that I, with philosophical qualifications of a horse, can tell you really aren’t that important.

Maybe my ideas are confusing, but so are Dazai’s. If life’s sooo pointless; if there’s no real connection or tangible thing that defines us as humans, why did you bother writing the book? Because he wanted to express himself and connect. Because it didn’t matter whether he did or not, but he must’ve enjoyed writing, and doing so hurts no one else.

I mean, the text has some nice moments, interesting details, implications of a certain society at a specific time, a nice long section where the protagonist tries to kill himself a couple times… This is all underscored, however, about the question of what it means to be human, whether our lives are worthwhile and valid – they’re not, really.

Anyways it’s easy to quickly write almost 1000 words on that almost has no actual value, and every sad minute I spent on this is a minute lost reading new extras of my current yaoi obsession. Life’s empty. But yaoi is about to give me an indescribable amount of satisfaction and joy, which doesn’t matter to the world, but will make me happy and doesn’t hurt anyone else.

And, if there was a purpose to life. Be kind.

Another purpose, for myself, stop wasting time on reading existentialist books that were recommended on TikTok. What a fucking liberation.

protagonist would've been a good uke, wasted potential