Towards the Creative Nothing.

As I work on my novel, I am getting to know my characters better. However, I am also feeling a bit more nervous about their portrayals. I have only begun to dwell into anarcho-nihilism, egoism, and other such philosophies within the last couple years, so I hope my characters portray the complex thoughts and motivations based on the rather pessimistic philosophies. After all, with the American political scene dwelling into chaotic nonsense, isn’t it a proper reaction to have absurd thoughts? Anyways, here is a section of a poem called Towards the Creative Nothing by the one and only Renzo Novatore, which I think depicts the thoughts and worldviews of my characters well. Click here for more poems and essays from Anarchy in Italy.



Our nihilism is not Christian nihilism.

We do not deny life.

No! We are the great iconoclasts of the lie.

And all that is declared “sacred” is a lie.

We are the enemies of the “sacred”.

And to you a law is “sacred”; a society “sacred”; a moral “sacred”; an idea “sacred”!

But we—the masters and lovers of pitiless strength and strong-willed beauty, of the ravishing idea—we, the iconoclasts of all that is consecrated—we laugh satanically, with a fine broad and mocking laughter.

We laugh!…

And laughing, we keep the bow of our pagan will to enjoy always stretched toward the full integrity of life.

And we write our truths with laughter.

And we write our passions with blood.

And we laugh!…

We laugh the fine healthy and red laughter of hatred.

We laugh the fine blue and fresh laughter of love.

We laugh!

But laughing, we remember, with supreme gravity, to be the legitimate offspring and the worthy heirs of a great libertarian aristocracy that transmitted to us satanic outbursts of mad heroism in the blood, and waves of poetry, of solos, of songs in the flesh!

Our brain is a sparkling pyre, where the crackling fire of thought burns in joyful torments.

Our mind is a solitary oasis, always flowering and cheerful, where a secret music sings the complicated melody of our winged mystery.

And in our brain all the winds of the mountains cry to us; in our flesh all the tempests of the sea shout to us; all the Nymphs of Evil; our dreams are actual heavens inhabited by thrilling virgin muses.

We are the true demons of Life.

The forerunner of the time.

The first announcements!

Our vital exuberance intoxicates us with strength and with scorn.

It teaches us to despise Death.


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