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A man who loves nothing has no shackles and is thus terrified of being free. You're now fully responsible for the misery and joy of your life. You're free from metaphysics, from the prescription of science, religion and all the discourses that comfort us in telling us we are in the wrong and thus that something can be changed for the better. You've discovered that nothing in the world can provide you with a passionate desire, now you're left with the terrifying work of discovering that these passions stem from nowhere but yourself, that it has always been so. There is no excuse in reason, no words that can contain you, no explanation that is not but pure fiction. The only battle beneath it all, the struggle to accept there is no guidance nor guarantee, the battle that terrifies us and that keeps the coward in us in the ease, rejoicing in complaining about the world and in the comfortable advice, in asking others about life, just like you're doing now, so that we don't have to answer it ourselves, in our hope that a certain knowledge or a certain method will save us, in a quest to produce our fictional goals, in the shadow of happiness, progress or power. There is nothing left for you, no answer, no conclusion, no reason, no passion, no health, no knowledge, no guarantee, no kindness or the excuse of vileness. There is no "but" which is not an artifice to hide you from this truth, there is no life that is not a lie to ourselves to disguise its own emptiness. Love what you want, do what you want, it has always been like so, we only pretend to do it for reasons, but we are wild fire and we will burn whatever we have at hand and then fade away.
