Nihilism is not a philosophy. It is just the affective truth content of a Sunday after your friends have been beaten up and arrested by cops, and you can neither write a coherent sentence nor hit a jump shot. It is the dysphoric calm before the storm, that bare acrid taste that won't go away, that tight weariness of every and all, that vile correspondence of thought and thing, that keening whine of stasis and building charge. It is a house to be built to be burned.
