Kipple

"Kipple" is a term from Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep that refers to the idea that the universe is slowly degenerating, since useless junk seems to reproduce itself when no one is looking.

I stare around my room. Books, DVDs and matchbooks all over the floor. My lucky backpack that I have used since junior high sits slumped in a corner. A nearly-full garbage of mostly soda cans and used condoms. My desk holds a printer I never bothered to hook up or even plug in, two briefcases of poker chips, two half empty bottles of hard liquor, two full bottles of hard liquor and a pack of cigarettes. And, of course, more matchbooks and more books. Scraps of paper with information of varying import are scattered around my desk as well, along with video games, deoderant, Listerine and a box of Mentos. A knife, fingerless gloves, wallet, keys and cellphone are also lying on the desk in random places.

My desk drawers are slightly more organized. More books, more pieces of paper with information of varying import, notebooks, condoms, gift cards I keep forgetting to use, checks and packets of advil for the times when going for the bottles of advil on the windowsill next to my bed or the bathroom is simply too difficult. My books are an eclectic blend of law school books, scholarly books, comedies, classics and miscellaneous.

What does this all say about me?

If the point of life is to strive to find order and meaning, then doesn't that invariably suggest that the universe is degenerating around us even as we attempt to strike an equilibrium within our own lives? If the natural order is chaos, then why not instead embrace chaos?

This is not meant to be a scientific observation.

Sometimes, we desire to strike a match and watch the world burn. Not because we hate the world, but because the blaze would be beautiful.

Some people think in terms of end-results and consequences; I don't. I generally don't care about the end result. It is the journey, rather than the destiny, that is of true importance.

Life is a terminal illness. We are all dying, everything is decaying. Perfection is but a fleeting image, a single frame spliced into the movie reel that is our lives.

I find life completely pointless, and that idea amuses the hell out of me.