The answer to everything is obvious. That there is no answer—that the idea of "answer" is itself a human fabrication—should be as recognizable to all as the double yellow rainbow of McDonald’s. Whether we can accept that there is no answer to anything, however, is a different question; one that has a clear answer. No.
The reason for this is in our hormones. Everything that humans have ever done were because of hormones—or neurochemicals, or brainal juices, or whatever you want to call it. Our biological workings create needs, and our incredible ability of consciousness works day and night to explain those needs. We find it suffocating to not do things or not think things. And we find it impossible to live without meaning. So we make them up, then pretend that we found them. We ignore the fact that “meaning” is just another word for “excuse.”
Discoveries are merely the newest lies. Like Christopher Columbus discovered America, the romanticists discovered childhood, and I discovered literary sociology.
In all seriousness, being serious is a joke. You know that thing of big name philosophers using big words and ungrammatical sentences to state the obvious, all to make the reader feel stupid enough to believe that the author is much smarter? Well, that’s old news. That doesn’t work anymore on the truly mindful woke members of contemporary society—namely, me and my friends. Seriousness is false. We must enter the post-serious era of philosophy.
The world is no more a stage to pretend that there is such a thing as a world and that it makes sense. Nothing makes sense and nothing should make sense. All the world’s a joke. And all we are are a bunch of clowns, with our clip-on noses and mechanical poses. Our acts end in fits of tears and hyperventilation.
If there are no answers, we have no choice but to make fake ones. I’m okay with that, as long as we can all laugh at them together.