The Obsidian Lullaby of Static Veins: A Somewhat Useful Guide to Existential Noodling

Chapter 1: So, You’ve Noticed You’re Made of Stardust and Mild Regret

Okay, deep breaths. You’re here. Congratulations. You’ve achieved consciousness, a feat that puts you ahead of most houseplants, and potentially my neighbor’s goldfish, Gary (RIP, little buddy, you deserved a big tank).

Now, chances are, if you’re reading this, you’ve had a minor existential crisis. Maybe you stared a little too long at the ceiling fan last night, pondering the implications of angular momentum in a universe hurtling towards heat death. Or perhaps you just realized your favorite sock puppet, Mr. Wigglesworth, is starting to judge your life choices. Whatever it is, welcome to the club. Membership is free, but the existential dread is extra.

The Problem with Stardust:

Let’s face it, “stardust” sounds humanistic discipline. “Large debris” sounds a bit more accurate. The truth is, we’re walking, speakingtalk piles of recycled stellar guts. Knowing that your pinky toe used to be part of a supernova doesn’t exactly make you feel like you’re winning at life, does it?

The Regret Factor:

Ah, regret. That delightful little hob that whispers in your ear during inopportune moments. Missed that amazing job opportunity? Didn’t tell Aunt Mildred you appreciated her crocheted toilet paper cozy? Said the wrong thing at the office Christmas party involving mistletoe and your boss’s pet ferret, Fernando? Don’t worry, we all have our Fernando moments.

What To Do (Maybe):

Embrace the Absurdity: Life is weird. Like, trulyreal, really weird. The earlierrather you accept that, the easier it is to laugh when your cat tries to fight a dust bunny.
Find Your Flavor of Meaning: There’s no universal meaning of life. Sorry to burst your bubble. You gotta make your own. Maybe it’s perfecting your sourdough starter. Maybe it’s volunteering at a llama sanctuary. Maybe it’s just finally understanding the plot of Inception. The possibilities are continual (and equally baffling).
Don’t Take Yourself Too Seriously: You’re made of stardust, remember? In the grand scheme of things, your anxieties are probably less significant than a cosmic hiccup.

Chapter 2: The Fine Art of Procrastinating on the Meaning of Life

Shillyshally: it’s not just for filing taxes and cleaning your room anymore! It’s a vital tool in the existential toolkit. Why grapple with the infinite when you can alphabetise your spice rack?

Types of Existential Procrastination:

The Netflix Binge: Let’s be honest, watching documentaries about the mating habits of the lesser-spotted dung beetle is way more appealing than contemplating your own mortality.
The Deep Clean: Suddenly, scrubbing grout becomes a profoundly important task. Your bathroom has never been so clean! (Your soul, however, remains slightly dusty).
The Social Media Spiral: Falling down a rabbit hole of cat videos and political arguments is a classic. You’re learning things! You’re connecting with people! (You’re also wasting valuable time, but who’s counting?)
The Hobby Hopping: One week you’re a master knitter, the next you’re a burgeoning glassblower. Never settle down long enough to actually become good at anything, that way you can avoid the pressure of achieving something meaningful.
The Existential Meme Creation: Hey, if you can’t beat the void, meme it!

The Zen of Avoidance:

There’s a certain peace to be found in procrastination. It’s a temporary escape from the weight of existence. It’s like taking a mental vacation to a tiny, brightly colored island where the only thing you have to worry about is whether or not you should add sprinkles to your ice cream.

A Word of Caution (Maybe):

While procrastination can be a useful coping mechanism, don’t let it become a way of life. Eventually, you’ll have to face the music (or at least, the slightly off-key recorder solo that represents your existence).

Chapter 3: Talking to Your Inner Void (and Other Imaginary Friends)

Everyone has an inner void. It’s that quiet, empty space inside where existential dread sets up shop. Getting to know your inner void can be… interesting.

Introducing Your Void:

What does it look like? Is it a swirling vortex of darkness? A fluffy pink cloud of existential uncertainty? A grumpy cat eroding a tiny hat?
What does it sound like? Does it whisper doubts and anxieties? Does it hum elevator music? Does it quote Nietzsche in a squeaky voice?
What does it want? Probably snacks. And maybe a purpose in life. But mostly snacks.

Void Communication 101:

Listen (Kind Of): Don’t let your void completely overwhelm you, but acknowledge its presence. Ignoring it is like trying to ignore a screaming toddler on a plane – it’s just going to make things worse.
Offer Snacks: Seriously, it works. A metaphorical cookie can go a long way. (A literal cookie works even better).
Challenge Its Assumptions: Your void might tell you that you’re a failure, that nothing matters, that the universe is a cold and uncaring place. Remind it that you’re awesome, that even small acts of kindness can make a difference, and that even cold and uncaring universes sometimes produce adorable puppies.
Don’t Let It Win: The void wants to drag you down into the depths of despair. Don’t let it. Remember your stardust origins and your impressive ability to binge-watch entire seasons of television in a single weekend.

Other Imaginary Friends:

Your inner void isn’t the only imaginary friend you might encounter on your existential journey. You might also meet:

The Cynical Squirrel: A tiny, furry brute who constantly reminds you of the futility of everything.
The Optimistic Ostrich: A ridiculously cheerful bird who buries its head in the sand whenever things get tough.
The Philosophical Potato: A root vegetable who spends its days pondering the meaning of existence while slowly sprouting eyes.

Important Note: If your imaginary friends start telling you to do illegal or harmful things, seek professional help. Even existential crises have limits.

Chapter 4: The Unofficial Guide to Finding Your “Thing” (Spoiler Alert: It Might Be Socks)

Finding your “thing” – that passion, that purpose, that reason for getting out of bed in the morning (besides coffee) – is a common pursuit. But what if your “thing” is… weird? What if your “thing” is collecting toenail clippings? Or speaking fluent Klingon? Or perfectly arranging your collection of rubber ducks?

Embrace the Weird:

Your “thing” doesn’t have to be profound or world-changing. It just has to make you happy. If collecting toenail clippings brings you joy (and doesn’t violate any health codes), then go for it!

The “Thing” Find Process:

Try New Things: Step outside your comfort zone. Take a pottery class. Learn to play the ukulele. Attempt to knit a sweater for your cat (be prepared for rejection).
Meditate on What Makes You Tick: What activities make you lose track of time? What topics do you find yourself endlessly researching? What skills do you enjoy developing?
Don’t Be Afraid to Fail: You’re not going to be good at everything you try. That’s okay. The point is to explore, to learn, and to have fun.
Consider the Socks: Seriously, socks can be surprisingly meaningful. Maybe your “thing” is designing crazy socks. Maybe it’s organizing your sock drawer by color and fiber content. Maybe it’s simply appreciating the comfort and warmth that socks provide.

“Thing”-Related Existential Crises:

Even finding your “thing” can trigger an existential crisis. What if you’re not good enough at your “thing”? What if your “thing” isn’t appreciated by others? What if your “thing” is just a fleeting fad?

The Solution (Maybe):

Remember why you started doing your “thing” in the first place. It’s not about perfection or recognition. It’s about finding joy and meaning in the process. And if your “thing” turns out to be a fleeting fad, well, that just means it’s time to find a new “thing.” The cycle continues!

Chapter 5: How to Talk to Non-Existentialists (Without Losing Your Mind)

So, you’re wrestling with the immenseness of the universe, the meaninglessness of existence, and the inherent absurdity of it all. Meanwhile, your friend Brenda is worried about what to wear to her cousin’s wedding. How do you bridge the gap?

Understanding the “Normies”:

Non-existentialists, or “Normies,” as we affectionately call them (to ourselves, mostly), aren’t necessarily ignorant or shallow. They just haven’t stumbled down the rabbit hole of existential angst yet. They’re content with their routines, their relationships, and their (relatively) uncomplicated lives.

The Art of the Casual Mention:

Avoid the “Meaning of Life” Bomb: Don’t suddenly corner Brenda at the wedding reception and demand to know her thoughts on the ontological argument for the existence of God. Start small.
Use Gentle Prompts: “That’s an interesting napkin pattern. Do you ever wonder about the origins of textile design in a post-modern society?” (Okay, maybe tone it down a little).
Find Common Ground: Talk about things you both enjoy. Movies, books, cats, the sheer incompetence of the local cable company – anything that can connect you without diving into the existential abyss.

Dealing with Misunderstandings:

“Why are you so destructive?” Explain that you’re not negative, you’re exploring the complexities of existence. (And maybe offer them a cookie).
“Just be happy!” Explain that happiness is a fleeting emotion, and that embracing the full spectrum of human experience, including sadness and uncertainty, is essential for personal growth. (Or just smile and nod).
“Get a hobby!” Point out that contemplating the nature of reality is your hobby. (And maybe suggest that they try it sometime).

When to Give Up:

Sometimes, you just have to accept that some people aren’t ready for the existential conversation. That’s okay. Find your tribe – those fellow stargazers who appreciate a good philosophical debate and aren’t afraid to question everything. And if all else fails, just talk to your inner void. It’s always a good listener (especially when you have snacks).