Denial: Self-Deception, False Beliefs, and the Origins of the Human Mind

Denial: Self-Deception, False Beliefs, and the Origins of the Human Mind by Ajit Varki and Danny Brower

Happy 2025! I hope this year is a good year for you.

A couple of years ago, I read a book called Denial: Self-Deception, False Beliefs, and the Origins of the Human Mind, by Ajit Varki and Danny Brower. I’ve written about it before here. It played an important role in my studies. It deals with our evolutionary psychology. Evolutionary psychology is something rarely considered when thinking about why we are the way we are. This book gives some very interesting and plausible explanations for our behavior.

They propose a provocative hypothesis that marries the Theory of Mind (TOM) with Mortality Awareness through the Mind Over Reality Transition (MORT) to explain one of humanity’s most perplexing characteristics: the denial of death. Their central argument is rooted in the paradox that human beings, uniquely aware of their own mortality, have also evolved mechanisms to suppress the existential terror this awareness entails. This duality, they argue, is a key to understanding not just human psychology but also the evolutionary processes that shaped our species.

The Evolutionary Conundrum of Awareness and Denial

Human beings possess an extraordinary ability to recognize that others have minds—a skill encompassed in the Theory of Mind. This capacity enables us to infer the intentions, beliefs, and emotions of others, facilitating complex social interactions and cooperation. However, TOM is not merely an interpersonal tool; it also turns inward, allowing us to imagine our future selves. This introspective ability inevitably leads to the realization of our own mortality. An organism's realization that it will eventually die marks both an evolutionary milestone and a potential psychological roadblock.

Varki and Brower posit that this acute awareness of mortality could have been paralyzing. A creature consumed by the fear of its own inevitable demise might struggle to survive, let alone reproduce. Natural selection, however, provided a solution: the cognitive ability to deny uncomfortable truths. This capacity for self-deception—what Varki and Brower term the "Mind Over Reality Transition" (MORT)—allowed early humans to sidestep the crippling anxiety of mortality while retaining the evolutionary advantages of self-awareness and social cognition.

Denial as a Survival Mechanism

The denial of death operates as an adaptive mechanism that balances the benefits of self-awareness against its existential costs. This balance is crucial. Without an understanding of mortality, humans would lack the foresight and caution necessary to avoid life-threatening dangers. But without denial, the dread of death could lead to apathy, despair, or an inability to take risks—all of which would hinder survival and reproductive success.

This interplay between TOM and MORT reveals an elegant evolutionary solution: our minds are hardwired to accept a paradoxical truth. We know, intellectually, that we are mortal, but we also possess the psychological mechanisms to compartmentalize, suppress, or distort this knowledge. This is not a flaw, but a feature that allows us to concentrate on the tasks of life—building relationships, raising children, creating art, and seeking meaning—without succumbing to the overwhelming presence of death.

The Role of Culture and Terror Management

While evolution provided the foundation for denying death, culture built the scaffolding. Varki and Brower’s ideas resonate strongly with Terror Management Theory (TMT), which suggests that cultural worldviews and symbolic systems are human constructs designed to mitigate death anxiety. Religion, art, philosophy, and even societal norms function as buffers against the existential terror of mortality. They provide frameworks that promise continuity—whether through an afterlife, a legacy, or the enduring influence of one’s creations.

“Existential Dread #9,” 9” x 12” acrylic and charcoal on paper.

This painting serves as a visual exploration of the TOM-MORT hypothesis. The abstraction invites viewers to project their fears and hopes, echoing the way denial itself operates. By obscuring the harsh edges of reality, the mind creates space for connection, creativity, and meaning. Yet, the tension in the painting suggests that denial is not absolute; the void beneath remains visible, demanding contemplation.

It’s both a personal and universal expression of the struggle with mortality. It asks us to confront the void while acknowledging the evolutionary and cultural scaffolding that has allowed us to thrive in its shadow. This piece does not offer resolution but instead invites the viewer into the complex interplay of awareness, denial, and the human condition—a visual testament to the insights into the mind’s delicate dance with reality.

These cultural constructs do more than soothe individual fears; they reinforce social cohesion. Shared beliefs about life and death foster unity, enabling groups to work together toward common goals. In this sense, denial of death is not merely a personal defense mechanism but a social glue that holds communities together.

Implications for Understanding Human Behavior

The TOM-MORT hypothesis invites us to reconsider many aspects of human behavior through the lens of denial. It explains why humans are uniquely capable of both profound creativity and devastating self-destruction. Our ability to deny death enables us to take risks, innovate, and envision futures that might never come to pass. But it also blinds us to long-term consequences, fueling behaviors that threaten our survival, such as environmental degradation and warfare.

Understanding the evolutionary roots of death denial also sheds light on the psychological struggles of modern life. In a world where traditional cultural buffers are eroding, individuals are increasingly confronted with unmediated mortality awareness. The resulting anxiety manifests in various ways, from existential despair to compulsive consumption. Yet, the same cognitive flexibility that enables denial also holds the potential for growth. By confronting the void and integrating our awareness of mortality into our lives, we can find new ways to navigate the human condition.

Varki and Brower’s TOM-MORT hypothesis offers a profound insight into the evolutionary origins of death denial. It reminds us that our ability to deny uncomfortable truths is not a weakness but a survival strategy—one that has allowed us to thrive in the face of existential uncertainty. At the same time, it challenges us to recognize the limitations of this denial. In a world where our actions increasingly have global and long-term consequences, the time may have come to reconcile our evolutionary heritage with the demands of modern existence. Only by understanding the roots of our denial can we hope to transcend it, transforming the fear of death into a catalyst for living fully and responsibly.

Humans Are Emotional—Not Rational

It shouldn’t be news to tell you that humans are irrational and emotional.

As human beings, we often pride ourselves on being rational creatures. We point to our advancements in science, our mastery of complex tools, and our ability to build societies governed by rules and logic. However, when it comes to matters of life and death, we reveal a different, more primal truth: we are emotional beings. This distinction becomes glaringly apparent when we confront the existential reality of our mortality. Death anxiety and the mechanisms we employ to manage this fear expose the raw emotional underpinnings of human behavior, challenging the veneer of rationality that we so often wear.

At the heart of our emotional nature is the profound discomfort with the knowledge that we will one day cease to exist—impermanence and finitude. Unlike other animals, humans possess a heightened awareness of mortality. This awareness creates a paradox: we have the intellectual capacity to understand our finite nature, but emotionally, we find this knowledge unbearable (Half Animal and Half Symbolic). Ernest Becker, in The Denial of Death, argues that much of human behavior is driven by a need to escape the paralyzing fear of death. This fear is not something we reason through; it is something we feel deeply, viscerally, and often uncontrollably.

Terror Management Theory (TMT) builds on Becker's insights, demonstrating how our emotional responses to death anxiety shape cultural worldviews, self-esteem, and interpersonal behaviors. According to TMT, humans create and cling to cultural systems that provide a sense of meaning, order, and immortality. These systems, whether religious, nationalistic, or ideological, are less about logical coherence and more about emotional comfort. They serve as psychological defenses (coping mechanisms), buffering us against the terror of our inevitable demise.

Consider the way people react when their belief systems are challenged. Rationally, one might expect open-minded discussion or a willingness to adapt to new evidence. Yet, more often than not, such challenges evoke defensiveness, hostility, or even aggression. This is because these belief systems are not merely intellectual constructs; they are emotional lifelines that protect us from existential dread (meaning system buffers). When they are threatened, it feels as though the foundation of our existence is being shaken, triggering a fight-or-flight response that is anything but rational.

This emotional foundation extends beyond our cultural worldviews, or meaning systems, to our personal identities. Self-esteem, for instance, is deeply tied to our ability to stave off death anxiety. TMT research shows that when people are reminded of their mortality, they often seek validation and strive for achievements that affirm their worth within their cultural framework. These actions are not driven by logical analysis but by an emotional need to feel significant in the face of insignificance.

Art and creativity provide another lens through which to examine the emotional nature of human responses to mortality. Artistic expressions, whether through painting, literature, or photography, often grapple with themes of death and immortality. These works resonate not because they offer rational solutions to the problem of mortality but because they evoke and articulate the emotions associated with it. They allow us to confront our fears, find solace, and connect with others who share our struggles.

The emotionality of human beings is perhaps most evident in the collective rituals surrounding death. Funerals, memorials, and acts of remembrance are rarely about logical considerations. Instead, they are about processing grief, celebrating life, and reaffirming our connections to one another and to the cultural narratives that give our lives meaning. These rituals are deeply symbolic, and their power lies in their ability to address emotional needs that logic cannot satisfy.

Acknowledging our emotional nature does not diminish our humanity; rather, it deepens our understanding of it. By recognizing that our responses to death anxiety are rooted in emotion, we can better understand the behaviors, beliefs, and systems that define our lives. This recognition also invites compassion—for ourselves and for others. It reminds us that beneath the facade of rationality, we are all grappling with the same fundamental fears and seeking the same solace in the face of the unknown.

In the end, it is our emotions, not our reason, that drive us to create, to connect, and to seek meaning. Our attempts to manage death anxiety may not always be rational, but they are profoundly human. They reveal our capacity for hope, resilience, and imagination in the face of mortality. And it is through these emotional endeavors that we find not only a way to endure but a way to transcend the limitations of our finite existence.

Putting Lipstick On a Pig

You’ve heard the saying, right? “Putting lipstick on a pig.” Trying to dress something up to make it more palatable or appealing when, deep down, it’s still just a pig (no offense to pigs). No matter how much gloss or glitter you apply, the truth remains stubbornly beneath the surface. It’s a futile act of denial. Yet, we do it anyway. Why? Because facing reality, raw and unfiltered, is terrifying.

Let’s get real for a moment. What are you putting lipstick on? Your art? Your career? Your relationships? Maybe even yourself? I’d bet there’s at least one thing in your life you’re trying to disguise, hoping it’ll pass muster under closer scrutiny. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: if you know, others probably do too. We’re not as good at hiding as we think we are.

For years, I tried to dress things up to make my work—and myself—look more appealing, more acceptable. It’s exhausting. Worse, it’s dishonest. The turning point for me came through my obsession with art, philosophy, and psychology. They handed me an unexpected gift: the ability to toss the lipstick in the trash and embrace life for what it is—fully and unconditionally.

There’s a strange, profound freedom in stripping everything down to its essence. It’s about knowing who you are, what you’re doing, and most importantly, why you’re doing it. It’s about standing firmly in your truth—warts, wrinkles, and all. Of course, none of this erases the existential dread we all carry. But it lets you face it head-on, without pretense.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a sage possessing all the answers; far from it. I’m as susceptible to the human condition as anyone else. Death anxiety, self-doubt, the gnawing ache of impermanence—it’s all there. But here’s the difference: I’ve stopped fighting it. I’ve stopped pretending it’s not there. Instead, I acknowledge it, sit with it, and even let it guide me. It’s not about triumphing over these fears but learning to live with them, unvarnished and unapologetic.

So, what would happen if you ditched the lipstick? What would your art, your life, or your relationships look like if you let them be exactly what they are? No dressing up, no cover-ups, just the raw, unadulterated truth. It’s scary, sure. But maybe, just maybe, it’s also the most honest and liberating thing you’ll ever do.

Jean-Paul Sartre said, "Man is condemned to be free." That freedom, for Sartre, is both exhilarating and terrifying because it comes with the weight of full responsibility. There’s no script, no preordained path—just the choices we make and the truths we embrace. In the context of ditching the lipstick, Sartre’s idea of freedom means owning your life completely, without excuses or illusions. It’s not about perfection or acceptance from others; it’s about the radical act of living authentically, no matter how messy or unpolished it looks.

When you accept this freedom, you also accept the burden of it. You’re no longer hiding behind societal expectations or personal delusions. You’re standing in the open, exposed, with all your imperfections on display. But in that vulnerability lies the real beauty. Because when you create—whether it’s art, relationships, or meaning itself—from a place of authenticity, you’re not just living; you’re transcending. That’s the kind of freedom Sartre was talking about. And maybe that’s the kind of freedom we all need to stop putting lipstick on pigs and start facing life as it really is—can you imagine?

Dance in the mystery of it all! Embrace the absurd—revolt against the meaninglessness!

Nihilistic, Pessimistic, or Realistic?

A.D. Wallace once described the distinction between radical and moderate pessimism. Radical pessimism, he said, is just called pessimism, while moderate pessimism is called realism. That really resonates with me.

It confuses me why so many people think that being honest and truthful about reality is negative. I’m a truth-seeker, even when the truth is difficult to hear.

The hollowness of it all this time of year hits like a gut punch, doesn’t it? It does for me. The cultural machine revs into overdrive, parading its constructs like a golden calf. For many, it’s “the most wonderful time of the year.” For me? It’s a study in futility, a theater of the absurd dressed in twinkling lights and synthetic cheer. Call me a pessimist if you like—but am I? Or am I just daring to peel back the glittery veneer and point to the uncomfortable truth we’d rather ignore?

Every year, we strap ourselves into this holiday hamster wheel. We buy gifts nobody really wants, often on credit we can’t afford. We drag out pagan symbols, slap on a thin coat of religious rhetoric, and call it tradition. The collective irony and hypocrisy are staggering. And yet, most people would defend it all with tooth and nail, convinced I’m missing the “magic” of it. But I don’t think I am. I think I’m seeing it for exactly what it is.

Look, celebrate whatever you want, however you want—it’s no skin off my back. My point is that, as a culture, we’ve collectively signed up for a ritual of empty commerce and shallow pretense. I opted out years ago. These charades offer me no existential comfort; they churn up more disquiet than solace. Let’s call it what it is: capitalism, draped in the illusion of love and goodwill. The irony deepens when you consider how much of this seasonal spending binge props up industries churning out cheap, disposable products, often imported from halfway around the world. It’s a snake devouring its own tail, all while claiming to serve some higher purpose.

Why do we do this to ourselves? What primal force drives us to act so irrationally, year after year? The answer isn’t buried too deep; it’s fear—specifically, the fear of our own impermanence. Death anxiety, plain and simple. And rather than confront it, we dress it up in tinsel and call it a celebration.

Do you know what a great existential buffer is? Gratitude. Why is gratitude something we schedule? Why can’t we express love and appreciation for the people in our lives in March or August—or whenever the urge strikes us? Why do we let the calendar and commerce dictate the timing of something so personal and profound? The idea that love needs a price tag or a season feels absurd to me. It’s as if we’ve been sold a lie, conned into thinking that authentic connection requires a receipt. It’s ridiculous. Worse, it feels like we’re willing participants in a scam, duped into playing the part of the fool, year after year.

Regardless of how I see things, I sincerely wish everyone the best in 2025. I have a sense it might not be our brightest year, but I hope we all find a way to endure it. Whatever challenges come our way, remember this: it’s all temporary, and in the vast expanse of existence, it’s ultimately meaningless. Let that thought anchor you—it might just offer a glimmer of solace in the darkest moments.

Symbolism Over Substance or Substance Over Symbolism?

Those are the questions. And I think I can offer an answer. Or at least food for thought.

I’ve been spending every morning writing—getting up early, making coffee, and writing.

It’s been wonderful. I love it. I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

There’s been a reoccurring idea (or a couple of questions) for me as I write about my life, these theories, and art.

The questions I’ve been considering aren’t new to me. But for whatever reason, they keep coming up as I write. I’m trying to connect my ideas to art, life, and death. I’m happy to report that I’ve found ways to do that through using these questions, or rather comparing these questions to my writing and art.

The questions are: symbolism over substance? or substance over symbolism? Or?

I see this “problem” in people trying to be creative or trying to appear to be creative (imposter stuff). It’s kind of like virtue signaling in the art world. They don’t seem to understand the dilemma—some Dunning Kruger stuff going on.

I recently watched a video of a guy telling his viewers he can save them $100K and four years of their lives in 20 minutes (watch his video and be sure to like and subscribe! LOL). He claimed to debunk everything taught in undergraduate school while majoring in art. These videos may get clicks, but they are so far off the mark. I clicked on it and watched it for reasons that had nothing to do with what he was selling.

He was so far off about what he was saying, but you wouldn’t know that if you’ve never been to undergraduate school. He was showing abstract art from big names throughout history and asking the question, “Don’t you think you can do that?” Ridiculous. Text out of context is a pretext. In other words, you can grab anything, take it out of context, and make up anything you want about it. It’s a logical fallacy known as “contextomy or quote mining.” It’s a form of confirmation bias too. It’s bad to do.

Remember, undergraduate school provides more than classes on drawing, painting, and photography. You have to take other classes like writing, science, and history. It’s a liberal arts degree—it should give you the tools to have a basic understanding of a lot of things, not just art. He left all of that out of his video.

Let’s move on.

It brings me to my point: substance or symbolism?

Let me explain.

First, I want to discuss these in the context of art—but it would apply to your life in general—it does mine. It makes sense to define what we’re asking or talking about—first things first, in that order.

SYMBOLISM
I define symbolism as prioritizing symbols, imagery, and representations that convey cultural, emotional, or ideological meaning over technical execution. The artwork’s value is tied to the ideas, emotions, or concepts it symbolizes, rather than its craftsmanship or deeper intellectual substance. There’s a risk here. The work can be perceived as superficial or hollow if the symbolism isn’t backed by genuine exploration. Or it might lack lasting resonance or fail to engage the viewer deeply if the symbolic layer is all it offers.

SUBSTANCE
I define substance as work focused on the technical, regardless of whether it communicates through explicit symbolism. It prioritizes depth, exploration, and intrinsic meaning over the use of obvious or recognizable symbols. The value lies in how the art is created—its process, materials, or execution—not its meaning or symbolism.

In my opinion, good art balances symbolism and substance. Symbolism helps anchor meaning and make art more accessible. Substance ensures the work has depth, originality, and a lasting impact.

If you’ve read my book Chemical Pictures, you’ve likely come across the phrase “Concept AND Craft.” That’s how I frame essential questions about making art—you need both. One without the other is like a one-armed wallpaper hanger: inefficient at best, doomed at worst.

I’ve spoken about this often over the years, sometimes passionately. Some people push back, arguing that art doesn’t need to be explained. I agree—art doesn’t require explanation, but it does need context. There’s a fine line. Can you suffocate your work in artist statements and technical jargon? Absolutely. You can talk your work into oblivion. I’ve seen it happen: artists masking uncertainty with a cascade of art-world buzzwords, hoping to dazzle or confuse. It doesn’t work. People see through that.

There’s wisdom in Shakespeare’s line, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Overselling or defending your art too aggressively reveals insecurity. Be mindful of how much you explain—substance should speak for itself. Balance meaning and execution and justify both.

Writing this book has been a transformative experience in my creative life. It’s shown me how much I’ve grown and how much more there is to learn. I like what Socates said: the only thing he really knew was that he knew nothing. I can relate.

Authenticity—being true to yourself—comes with time. Cultural pressures can be relentless when you’re building a career, raising a family, or trying to establish yourself as an artist. You’re often performing to fit in. But age changes that. You learn to stand by who you are, regardless of others’ opinions. Truth reigns supreme with age. A wonderful place to be.

“When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.” Anaïs Nin

Writing My Book and Telling My Stories

“In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering and the Origins of Evil”

I wanted to share an update about my book. I’m excited about it!

I devote daily time to writing, reading, researching, making art, and most of all, thinking.

So far, my book breaks down something like this:

1
Introduction and Artist Statement
This chapter sets the stage for the book, explaining its purpose and relevance. It addresses some key questions. What is the book about, and why should a person read it? I introduce the themes, goals, and personal motivations driving this work. I also include my artist statement. It lays the foundation for the art itself, both technically and conceptually.

2
A Phenomenological Autobiography
Through personal stories, I explore how my life experiences have shaped my creative journey. This chapter demonstrates the deep connection between my artistic drive and the existential questions addressed by Becker's theories and Terror Management Theory (TMT). By connecting my own narrative to these frameworks, I provide insight into how creativity becomes a response to death anxiety or existential anxiety.

3
Ernest Becker
In this chapter, I delve into Becker’s groundbreaking theories, the denial of death and death anxiety. I supplement these with insights from anthropology, psychology, philosophy, theology, and art. I explain Becker's concept of the origins of evil, examining its definition and mechanisms, and scrutinizing the frequent attempts by humanity to eradicate perceived evil through acts of evil, using violence and dehumanization (oh, the irony!).

4
Terror Management Theory (TMT)
This chapter focuses on TMT and its relationship to Becker’s ideas, with a specific case study: the Tabeguache Ute Indians. I analyze how European colonizers used othering (Manifest Destiny) to justify acts of genocide and ethnocide against Native Americans, demonstrating the devastating consequences of existential anxiety, or death anxiety, on human behavior.

5
Artwork
Here, I present the artistic creations inspired by the concepts discussed in the previous chapters. This section ties theory and practice together, showing how my work embodies these existential and psychological themes. This chapter includes over a hundred photographic prints, paintings, and other visual media.

6
Essays
This chapter is a collection of essays I’ve written over the years, covering a range of topics from art and photography to philosophy and psychology. Along the way, you’ll find reviews and reflections on obscure ideas and peculiar subjects. The essays vary in length—some are just a few hundred words, while others span a couple of thousand. Their styles differ as well; some are explanatory, while others read more like personal journal entries.

Working It Out

It’s been a little over three years since I began writing this book and making art for it. In that time I’ve made considerable progress.

I’ve created a significant body of artwork, including the photographic prints for the book and several paintings. It has been an exciting journey, and I want to share it with those who have an interest in these theories and my work.

Drawing from the theories of Ernest Becker, Otto Rank, Terror Management Theory (TMT), and many others, I’ve used my personal experiences as a lens to investigate these existential questions. The work explores the psychology of othering, particularly through the historical lens of the Tabeguache Ute in Colorado, and delves into the roots of human evil—specifically, why people often mistreat those whose beliefs differ from their own.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how much I’ve enjoyed the writing process. It’s offered me profound insights into my identity and life experiences in ways I didn’t expect. Unlike photography, which captures a moment instantly, writing feels more akin to painting—it’s a slower, layered process. It generates ideas gradually, piece by piece, over time. This slower rhythm has been deeply rewarding, allowing ideas to mature and take shape in ways that feel both deliberate and organic.

A Tiny Preview of Some of My Stories

Jeanne and I spent the past week watching a Spanish series about a man who inherits the gift of premonitions from his mother. The story was intriguing and kept us engaged—it turned out to be a pretty enjoyable watch overall.

Watching it brought back memories of a trip I took to Mexico 36 years ago (see photo above). A group of friends traveled to Mazatlán, Mexico, to get out of the cold for a week—it was November 1988. One of our friends had a complete mental breakdown—he went into full-blown psychosis—at the end of the trip. It didn’t start until we were on the way home. The event lasted for several days. Like scenes from a horror film, I witnessed all of it firsthand. He ended up in a psychiatric hospital.

What happened? He went out one night with some locals—just two nights before the end of our trip. I tried to stop him but I couldn’t. He told me later that it involved methamphetamine, cocaine, and the Sinaloa Cartel (Cártel de Sinaloa).

What happened was surreal, a lot like the series we just watched. It prompted me to write about the experience in detail. I've come to understand that these kinds of experiences shaped both my creative life and my life in general. It’s like a long movie plot unfolding before me—the narrative arc—the more we observe, the more it reveals about who we are.

What I thought would never be relevant is central or key now to telling my story and the story of these theories I’m preoccupied with. In a lot of ways, it all fits together.

This story is in the second chapter of my book, which has about 15,000+ words so far and focuses on my family and friends. They are, in large part, the people who made me who I am.

From a young age, I was acutely aware of death—through tragic accidents, murder, suicide, drug addiction, war, and mental illness. These harsh realities seemed to loom around me. However, positive influences and uplifting experiences also surrounded me, shaping my early years.

The stories of my life begin around the age of eight and continue to the present day. I share memories of my mother, her deep love for humanity, and the lifelong battle she faced with mental illness. I also reflect on my grandmother’s fierce indignation whenever she heard racial slurs or witnessed people belittling those who were different. I’m so grateful for both of them.

I recount our family Thanksgiving dinners, where my mother would invite young men from the local Job Corps—African American, Native American, and Mexican American—making them welcome at our table every year. Our neighbors often didn’t know what to make of her; she was a profoundly progressive person, far ahead of her time.

One of the early stories recounts my heroin-addicted brother’s return from the Vietnam War. I write about the experience of traveling with my mother to the airport to pick him up. I’ve also written about my own experiences in the military, ten years after that, and the struggles I faced in its aftermath.

My writing delves into my time photographing dead bodies—gunshot wounds to the head, etc.—and the profound psychological impact it left on me.

I explore themes of drug use and overdoses, which have been a recurring presence in my life—friends and family dying from this kind of stuff. Most recently, my 61-year-old brother died in 2023 of methamphetamine toxcity. Alcohol and drug use was everywhere around me most of my life.

I witnessed a friend of mine shoot up Jack Daniels—yes, Jack Daniels, the whiskey. And yes, he put a needle in his arm and shot a syringe full of it into his vein. It was four o'clock in the morning—the party was still going, but there wasn’t any more cocaine available for him to shoot, snort, or smoke. I write about what he said, what he felt, etc. We gave him the nickname “Whiskey Pig” after that.

A few years later, his younger brother died of a drug overdose. During a lunch break from work, he bought some dope. He stopped at a red light in the middle of the city and injected the fentanyl-laced heroin he had just purchased. The dose was lethal—he died instantly, slumped over the steering wheel with the needle still in his arm.

These stories are my way of confronting those experiences and connecting them to the universal human search for meaning and the existential struggles that we all face. I explain how they have driven my creative life and the questions around existence.

My life is full of story after story about the struggles to exist—to cope with meaninglessness and insignificance. I’m sure I’m not the only one that could tell stories like these. However, they are uniquely mine and contrasted against the philosophical and psychological ideas around our existential struggles.

Isn't this the fundamental essence of existentialism? We are inherently searching for meaning in our lives when there is none. We crave significance and some kind of immortality that doesn’t exist. We lie and deny. We use our culture to provide meaning for us—we tranquilize ourselves with drugs, alcohol, shopping, fantasies, social media, fame, ideologies (religion, politics), or whatever can fill the void that faces us—mortality. It’s so clear to me.

Cultural constructs shape humanity, in my opinion. To me, most people are cuturally constructed meat puppets. Most people seem to be unaware of the importance of directly confronting and addressing the fundamental lie of existence—their mortality—and the consequences that ensue when they fail to do so.

That’s the theory of my book.

Existentialism, Absurdism, and Nihilism

It’s always a bit surprising to me when I meet creative people who aren’t into philosophy or psychology. To me, those topics are the backbone of a creative life—maybe that’s just my take—but they’ve always been a creative driver for me.

Philosophy and psychology offer so much to draw from as an artist. I've always been drawn to existentialism and consider myself an existential artist, incorporating elements of absurdism and nihilism into my work. That interest is actually what inspired me to write this.

If you’re curious, there are three philosophers you should definitely know about: Jean-Paul Sartre (Existentialism), Albert Camus (Absurdism), and Friedrich Nietzsche (Nihilism). They all wrestled with the big questions—why we’re here, what it all means, and how to navigate life’s inherent lack of meaning. Their ideas have shaped how I see the world, though for me, Ernest Becker and Terror Management Theory have added another layer that goes even deeper.

I’ll break down a bit about who these thinkers were and what they’re known for.

Jean-Paul Sartre, a French philosopher, lived from 1905 to 1980.

The term "existentialism" is commonly associated with him. I’m an existentialist. No question about that. But I lean into all of the ideas around existentialism. Jean-Paul Sartre's existentialist philosophy centered on the idea that humans have absolute freedom to create their own values, purpose, and meaning in life.

Sartre believed that humans are "condemned to be free" and that existence precedes essence. I agree with his sentiments. He thought freedom was the bigger issue. Becker made a similar argument about the fear of living. True freedom scares people—we want to be told what to do and how to live—hence culture.

The old Greek thinkers thought that “essence” preceded existence. In other words, everyone is born with a purpose. It's evident to me that this is not the case. Sartre meant we need to assign meaning to our lives—we need to find or create constructs that keep us going. That’s evident to me, and Becker/TMT drives this point home.

The meaningless in your life is a gift. You can assign any meaning you want to it. Life is fleeting. You’re entirely free to make your life mean something. That is true freedom.

Bad faith. Sartre defined "bad faith" as a central concept in his work that describes the act of self-deception, or deceiving oneself into not having the freedom to make choices. Sartre believed that people act in bad faith to avoid short-term pain but end up suffering long-term psychological consequences. He believed that people can only realize their full potential as human beings by making difficult choices. He also believed that people who act in bad faith are more like objects in the world than conscious human beings.

According to Sartre, we have complete freedom over our lives in a world without religion or objective meaning, but with enormous power comes immense responsibility. Let that sink in for a moment: you have the power to shape the life you want to live. Most people are like robots—programmed by culture—culturally constructed meat puppets. This time of year, I see it ramp up to the extremes.

You can make wise decisions for yourself, but how do you know which ones are good? How often do you act against your own self-interest and experience positive moments when things are going well for you?

Sartre died from pulmonary edema (“wet lungs”)—probably from smoking.

Albert Camus, a French/Algerian philosopher, lived from 1913 to 1960.

Albert Camus is the father of “absurdism.” He said, “The literal meaning of life is whatever you’re doing that prevents you from killing yourself.” Nothing could be more straightforward than that. At its core, Becker also discusses this concept, albeit from an existentialist perspective rather than an absurdist’s one. Your cultural worldview or meaning system is what sustains your existence. Period.

Camus addresses the search for meaning but says that the universe is indifferent to our need for meaning. This is where the concept of absurdity becomes relevant. It’s an adjective that’s defined as utterly or obviously senseless, illogical, or untrue; contrary to all reason or common sense; laughably foolish or false. According to Camus, our need and search for meaning are absurd. It’s meaningless. How absurd! Having said that, he doesn’t recommend suicide—that’s allowing the absurdity of life to win; he doesn’t recommend religion or any ideology (nationalism, capitalism, etc.); he called that philisophical suicide. He recommends facing the absurdity (a form of rebelling) and being content. His famous line is “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“If the world were clear, art would not exist.”

— Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus

Camus is saying that the very lack of clarity in the world—its absurdity—gives rise to art. And I would add that art (creative life) plays a major role in quelling death anxiety—maybe just another way of saying it. Art is humanity’s way of contending with the questions that have no final answers and finding beauty, connection, and expression within that struggle.

Camus died in a car accident in 1960.

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1901) was a German philosopher and critic.

People often cite Nietzsche as a nihilist. I suppose he was a kind of nihilist (and not), but he offered more in terms of thought and purpose than most nihilists do. His famous quote is “God is dead.” People frequently quote it, often taking it out of context. The full quote is: “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?”

Nietzsche intended the quote to reflect the changes he saw in European society at the time and to urge people to wake up to the rapid changes in Western culture. He was making a valid point in saying that Christianity was the foundation of meaning and purpose for almost two millenia, and now technology has taken its place, leaving people confused and depressed (or lost) trying to find meaning without religion. Can you imagine what he’d say today? Oy! He wanted to hasten nilhisim in the hope of getting past it—that's the optimistic par’t happen.

Speaking of artists inspired by philosophy, you can listen to Black Sabbath's "God is Dead" song (video below). It’s classic Black Sabbath! Nietzsche’s quote is at the heart of it.

Was Nietzsche a nihilist? Nihilism is the belief in nothing. Extreme pessimism and radical skepticism, which condemn existence, are often associated with nihilism. A true nihilist would believe in nothing, have no loyalties, and have no purpose other than, perhaps, an impulse to destroy (destorying might be a purpose). I’m skeptical that anyone alive is a true nihilist. If you were a true nihilist, you would have died by suicide the second you truly believed in nothing.

In my personal opinion, Nietzsche embodied a kind of optimistic nihilism—I don’t believe he was a hardcore nihilist. Your opinion may be different.

Nietzsche died from a stroke. They say he was insane (possibly from syphilis).

“Abiogenesis,” 7” x 5", November 30, 2024, acrylic on paper.

The Kiss

“You can’t read Becker without dealing with your own darkness.”

— Sam Keen

I want to talk about two things in this post. They are related but different.

I just watched the documentary from twobirdsfilm.com about Ernest Becker called “All Illusions Must Be Broken.” A wonderful film. I applaud them. I can’t imagine the amount of work that took to make. I strongly encourage you to watch it.

The second item is the photograph posted here, Witkin’s image called “The Kiss.”

SAM KEEN’S INTERVIEW WITH ERNEST BECKER (1924–1974)
In December of 1973, Sam Keen recorded an interview with Ernest Becker. Becker was dying of colon cancer.

The recordings of Becker are the driving force of the film. Keen did a fantastic job with his interview. He asked relevant and deep questions. The article was published in Psychology Today in April of 1974. Becker died in March, just a month earlier. Becker said he felt wistful that he wouldn’t be around to read the article. It was sad to hear him talk about it. What a tremendous loss. To me, he is one of the greatest philosophers and thinkers of the 20th century.

“The fear of life and the fear of death are the mainsprings of human activity. Everything can be explained from those fears.”

— Ernest Becker

I really enjoyed hearing Becker’s words. So precise, so thoughtful, and so honest. He was a popular professor everywhere he taught. He packed the auditoriums when he lectured—standing room only—people were waking up. He asked the big questions, the unanswerable questions, and gave plausible, insightful suggestions to why we fear death so much and what shields us from the terror of meaninglessness and insignificance. I agree with Becker when he says the fear of death is the mainspring of human activity. Everything reduces to that. Everything.

Sam Keen says something in the beginning of the film that is profound; I’ve experienced it many times. He’s talking about telling people about death anxiety and how the fear of death drives human behavior. He said, “You’re just going to object to that unless you’re willing to look at your own defenses against mortality. Now, do you want to sit for that or not? No, I think I’d rather go to the circus.“ That hit hard. And so very true.

Becker talks about the origins of evil. “All humanly caused evil is based on man’s attempt to deny his creatureliness. To overcome his insignificance.” This is so clear for me to see in the world today. It’s always been there. I’ve talked a lot about my interest in our animality (humans are animals, contrary to popoular belief and denial). Creatureliness is the same thing. It drives us to supremacy—we do everything we can to rise above it because animals, or creatures, die.

THE KISS BY JOEL PETER WITKIN
If you’ve read my blog for a while, you know I like Witkin and his work. He’s been an influence in my creative life for over 30 years. His work is a brilliant example of existentialism. He deals with death and the fear of it. He deals with the fragility of the human body, decay, and non-existentance.

The Kiss depicts the bisected head of a cadaver reassembled to create the illusion of two people kissing. This work reflects Witkin's fascination with dualities like life and death, love and decay, and the sacred and profane. He’s exceptional at bringing these ideas to the forefront of consciousness.

Witkin often used human remains as part of his compositions. For The Kiss, he likely sourced the bisected cadaver from a medical or scientific institution (no one really knows). It’s true that he had a controversial history of navigating legal and ethical boundaries to acquire such materials. He was often criticized for his approach to the material and images.

“I never photograph anything I don’t believe in. If I love working with death, it’s because even in death I find this power of reality that no sculptor or painter could recreate, not even a Michelangelo or a Da Vinci.”

— Joel-Peter Witkin

He employed dramatic chiaroscuro lighting, influenced by Baroque painters like Caravaggio (one of my favorites), to create a haunting yet reverent atmosphere. He constructed a simple but evocative backdrop to focus attention on the subject. Witkin's prints are renowned for their handcrafted quality. In the darkroom, he used techniques such as scratching, bleaching, and toning to distress the surface of the print, adding layers of texture and enhancing the sense of decay. He often employed sepia or gold toning to give his images a timeless, antique feel, aligning them with his themes of mortality and transcendence. It makes you wonder why he never pursued the wet collodion process. The wet collodion era aligns with themes of death and remembrance that resonate in Witkin's oeuvre, as 19th-century photography often dealt with post-mortem imagery and memento mori.

Witkin’s characteristic lighting and framing amplified the emotional and symbolic resonance of the image. His use of chiaroscuro draws attention to the textures and details of the bisected head, reinforcing the tension between beauty and horror. By literally splitting the head, he transforms the human form into an artifact that interrogates identity, intimacy, and the fragility of life. The physical intervention underscores the artist’s willingness to challenge taboos to confront the viewer with existential questions.

A friend sent me a good article about the purpose of art. The question was, “Can art make the world a better place?” I’ve thought about this question a lot. I’m not sure it can. I tend to agree with the author—she’s right when she talks about making art dangerous again—that’s where the power in art resides for me—it always has. I think Witkin accomplished this and then some.

Today, I make art that first and foremost quells my existential concerns, and then I put it out into the world and never really consider it again. That’s the purpose of art for me. Does it make the world better? Is it dangerous? I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care.

The Corporeal Fantasy Concept and Consciousness

Two ideas that have been rolling around in my head lately are the corporeal fantasy—overcoming the physical limitations of the human body—and the idea of consciousness.

Consciousness
I have a question (or maybe several) about consciousness. The first one to address is, What is it?

Billie Eilish has a song called "bury a Friend." The lyrics in part say,
"What do you want from me?
Why don't you run from me?
What are you wondering?
What do you know?
Why aren't you scared of me?
Why do you care for me?
When we all fall asleep, where do we go?"

Eilish asks a great question about consciousness there: "When we all fall asleep, where do we go?” I’m going out on a limb here and say that she’s addressing sleep, not death (see the video below). However, I could be wrong. The question still stands. What happens to “us” or our “consciousness” when we are in deep, dreamless sleep? Where are “we”? Moreover, where is our consciousness?

Have you ever been put under anesthesia? Where do “you” go? Where is your awareness or consciousness then? Is that what death is like?

Do we “die” every night if we go into deep, dreamless sleep? It’s an intriguing question to think about.

Somniphobia is the extreme fear of sleep. I wonder if the underlying reason for that phobia is death or death anxiety.

“50 Million Years Ago,” 12 × 9 acrylic and mixed media— October 2025
50 million years ago, you walked upon this planet so
god of all that you could see, just a little bit like me 
The Police

The Corporeal Fantasy Concept
How is “corporeal fantasy” defined? The term refers to the symbolic and psychological structures we construct to cope with the reality of our bodily existence, including its vulnerability, decay, and ultimate mortality. The corporeal fantasy serves as a kind of defense mechanism or imaginative framework that allows us to transcend, obscure, or deny the limitations imposed by our physical being.

This fantasy can manifest in cultural ideals of beauty, strength, and health, portraying the body as invulnerable or eternal. Many corporeal fantasies are linked to the idea of symbolic immortality (more later), where individuals seek to live on through their legacy, cultural impact, or even through religious or spiritual beliefs.

Becker doesn’t use the term corporeal fantasy, but his work provides a foundation for understanding it. He argues that much of human culture is built around denying the reality of death, with the body representing the primary site of this denial. Symbolic immortality, achieved through religion, art, or legacy, can be seen as a form of corporeal fantasy.

You’ve probably heard me talk about our animality. This also fascinates me. How we deny our animal nature. The things we do are beyond bizarre when you deconstruct them. We want to think of ourselves as above the animal. Why is that? Well, we know what happens to animals: they die. Animals are part of nature, and nature also can bring anxiety to the forefront. We tend to like suburbs and cities more when reminded of death (The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life).

"We live in a world where the body—a biological creature that lives and dies—is a source of both shame and fear, a reminder of our helpless animal condition." Ernest Becker The Denial of Death.

Becker often emphasized that "animality" is not just about the physicality of humans but also about their instinctual drives, which are at odds with their symbolic capacity for meaning. This conflict, he argued, underpins much of human anxiety and culture itself.

The authors of The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life expand on Ernest Becker’s ideas and explore how humans deal with their awareness of mortality and their "animality"—the aspects of themselves that tie them to the natural, physical world. They explain how people use cultural worldviews (meaning systems), self-esteem, and symbolic immortality to transcend their animal nature.

Cultural worldviews, or meaning systems, are systems of belief that provide meaning, significance, order, and a sense of permanence. These help people feel they are part of something larger and enduring, distancing themselves from their physical, mortal nature. They also push back on our animality.

It's fascinating to see how some people take offense when someone refers to humans as animals. For me, this is simply a statement about our biological condition. What makes us different than any other animal? Biologically speaking, nothing.

Denying our animality is part of our evolutionary system of denying and lying about our condition. We loathe calling ourselves animals—it’s an insult to us. We do everything we can to rise above it—we strive for immortality because the thought of not existing anymore is unbearable. One of my favorite quotes is from the 19th-century French poet Arthur Rimbaud. He said, “The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.“ The feedback loop is ever present with these ideas and our condition.

Self-esteem acts as a buffer against existential anxiety by affirming a person’s value within their cultural framework. People work hard to gain social approval, promotions, awards, and other signs of worth that elevate them above "mere animals." Identifying as more virtuous or righteous than others reinforces a sense of transcendence over physicality and mortality. A kind of moral superiority.

“Each person nourishes his immortality in the ideology of self-perpetuation to which he gives self-allegiance; this gives life the only abiding significance it can have. No wonder men go into a rage over fine points of belief: if your adversary wins the argument about truth, you die. Your immortality system has been shown to be fallible, your life becomes fallible.”

— Ernest Becker, Escape from Evil

Humans seek ways to leave a lasting impact that will outlive their physical bodies. This involves engaging in projects or pursuits that symbolically defy mortality. Artists create works to achieve immortality by being remembered for their contributions. Having children is a biological and symbolic way of extending oneself into the future (legacies). And many seek to build or contribute to structures, ideas, or movements that endure beyond their lives (legacies).

Many religions promise an afterlife, eternal soul, or reincarnation, offering the hope of escaping the finality of death. Patriotism ties individuals to a legacy that transcends their own lives, making them part of an enduring collective.

Whatever illusion, myth, or immortality project you use to get through each day doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you have one—at least one. When your culture doesn’t provide people with constructs to lean on, individuals will become depressed, anxious, or have other mental health issues. These illusions are important. However, when challenged or threatened, these illusions can also lead to significant issues.

Religions and political positions come to mind. Threatening someone else's religious beliefs or having yours threatened can ignite wars. Same with politics or any dogma. We’ve witnessed this every day throughout the world for millennia.

It’s essential to be self-aware about your differences with others. And when your construct or belief system is challenged, and it will be, you need to be hypervigilant about how you respond. That’s the essence of what I’m concerned about today.

The world is in chaos today. Some might argue it’s always been this way, and I wouldn’t disagree. It seems more palpable because of technology now. We’re aware; we hear about it even if we don’t want to. I believe this chaos—whether it’s Russia and Ukraine, Israel and Palestine, or America’s huge political divide—red versus blue—all stems from threatened cultural worldviews or meaning systems. They are all responses to having meaning systems challenged by something different.

This is where Becker and TMT hit the nail on the head. If you point to a conflict between human beings, I can show you the psychological underpinnings of that conflict 99% of the time. It’s simple for me to see this, and I wonder why so many can’t. Am I off? Am I wrong? If I am, I’m open to correction.

"Each person nourishes his immortality in the ideology of self-perpetuation to which he gives self-allegiance; this gives life the only abiding significance it can have. No wonder men go into a rage over fine points of belief: if your adversary wins the argument about truth, you die. Your immortality system has been shown to be fallible, your life becomes fallible." Ernest Becker, Escape from Evil

I've Finally Deleted My Social Media Accounts: But That's Not the Point

FACEBOOK AND INSTAGRAM ARE DELETED!

It’s taken me forever to do this! Facebook and Instagram make it ridiculously difficult to do—another reason to quit them. I’ll talk about the bigger reasons later in this post.

I’m keeping my YouTube channel and will post videos there from time to time.

But who cares, right? Which brings me to my rant.

THE REALITY IS: NOBODY CARES

It’s not the first time I’ve said this, but I’ll say it again in celebration of unchaining myself from the AI algorithms: Nobody cares about your artwork, your interests, or your life (in general).

And this applies to me, first and foremost.

I understand that those are challenging words to read! I get it. But it’s true. And if you give me a chance to make my case, you’ll see why this is essential to embrace and believe. I might even say you should embody this idea. I learned this a long time ago. It’s not a negative thing. In the end, it will help drive your art and your life in a better, more authentic, peaceful direction.

I recommend that you find your own space to post your work—without any expectations—simply to quell your anxiety and satisfy the psychological need to offer art and ideas to the world. That’s what I do here. If people read it, great. If they don’t, great. The idea is to have an outlet that’s not tied to social media companies scraping your data and personal information.

“When you’re 20 you care what everyone thinks, when you’re 40 you stop caring what everyone thinks, and when you’re 60 you realize no one was ever thinking about you in the first place.”

— Anonymous

I’m not saying people want bad things to happen to you; they don’t (for the most part anyway). I’m saying that your day-to-day life and your hobbies, interests, and activities are meaningless to them.

They don’t care.

They don’t have the time or energy to care. They’re too busy trying to earn a living (money), working a job, paying bills, taking care of children, spouses, partners, parents, health issues, and other stuff. Life stuff.

They’re preoccupied, and it doesn’t involve anything you’re doing. Life is very challenging for most people. There’s no room for your obscure interests and strange ramblings (I’m projecting here a bit *wink*).

You might be thinking, “Wait a minute! People send me emails and give me likes about my work.” I know. There are people who do that. Some may show passing interest, but that’s it. You need to realize that after they click the “like” or “heart” icon, two minutes later they’ve forgotten about you and your work.

And when they send you an email or message, they’re usually after something. And yes, they might even include compliments about your work. It’s mostly a quid-pro-quo kind of thing. This is not a hard and fast fact, but the majority of the time it’s true. People are selfish. I’m sure you know that already.

When you come to terms with this, you’ll stop striving for people’s attention and accolades (it’s your attempt at bolstering your self-esteem to quell your existential dread). You will realize that it’s meaningless and a waste of your time and energy—it will burn you out—I’ve seen it happen.

If you face the fact that it’s YOU who are interested in what YOU are doing, and if you’re authentic and sincere, you won’t give a second thought to what others think. Even if they show some superficial interest in what you’re saying or doing. Make the work, put it out there, and let go—that’s all you need to do. Period.

This is true creative freedom for me. Life-changing freedom. It brings peace and gratitude into your life.

Years ago, I realized that my education, life experiences, exhibitions, published books, artwork sales, book sales, workhops (teaching), etc. mean nothing to anyone except me. It sounds like navel gazing, but it’s not.

Understanding this means coming to terms with where you derive meaning and significance—the two things that we need for psychological equilibrium.

I’ve chosen the life of an artist or creative person as my buffer against death anxiety. We all need to find something. You can pick a “nondestructive myth” or a “destructive myth” (to use Pruyser’s terminology). "Nondestructive myths" function as psychological shields against death anxiety, a key theme in terror management theory. Pruyser’s notion of cultivating illusions that "will not deteriorate into delusions" aligns with the psychological challenge of balancing necessary fictions (like cultural worldviews and personal identities) with reality—especially when these fictions protect us from existential dread but, when rigid, can foster denial and destructive behavior—i.e., "destructive myths.”

The fantasy has always been to have a community where artists understand and support one another. That doesn’t exist and never will. Human beings are too irrational, too self-centered, and too selfish for those to exist.

Embrace your solitude. You should actively choose to spend time alone in this respect, not feeling lonely but instead using the time to focus on yourself, reflect on your thoughts and feelings, and engage in creating art that brings you personal fulfillment, essentially seeing the positive aspects of being alone and making art a conscious part of your life.

That’s both meaningful and significant.

DELETING MY SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS AND THE CHANGING WORLD

I have to be honest; the political environment played a big role in my decision. Not 100%, but it played a part. And this was pre-election (America).

What’s happened to this country? What’s happened to the people here? We need to teach critical thinking, media literacy, and civics in school again. But I know it’s too late.

I’m reminded of the book The Fourth Turning by Howe and Strauss. According to them, we’re in the fourth turning now—the crisis period. “This is an era of destruction, often involving war or revolution, in which institutional life is destroyed and rebuilt in response to a perceived threat to the nation's survival. After the crisis, civic authority revives, cultural expression redirects toward community purpose, and people begin to locate themselves as members of a larger group.” (pg. 103-104)

It’s about generational memory loss. Every 80-100 years, called a saeculum, the world has faced the same thing, over and over again. If you’re unfamiliar with the book. You should read it. It’s grounded in historical events that are connected through these cycles.

The dark side of social media is real as well. Narcissism abounds on these platforms. It’s most often the people who are the most insecure (hence the narcissism) that do this. Most people post with the (unconscious) desire to show how their life is wonderful and much better than yours. “Look how successful, pretty, rich, etc. I am!” It’s a sad state of affairs. The curated lives on these platforms are phony beyond words. It has a detrimental effect on young, vulnerable people’s mental health. Look at the suicide rates of the young and vulnerable—social media has played a role in that.

Social media has also played a big part in this political and environmental meltdown. The misinformation and disinformation abound. It’s a platform for people to show their Dunning-Kruger effect on any topic. They’ll argue about anything and be right and certain about it.

The anti-intellectualism is terrible on social media—glaring in your face every time you log on. I can’t expose myself to that kind of stuff any longer. My head spins when I see flat-earth believers arguing with scientists, telling them that they’ve “done their research.” My head spins when I see videos of people talking about the U.S. government creating hurricanes and tornadoes. Conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory. No more for me; I’ve tapped out.

It’s true that social media created an environment where creatives could post whatever they make and hope to get sales, subscriptions, revenue, etc. If your goal is financial-based or you’re seeking recognition, it might work for a month or two, but there will be a heavy price to pay mentally and other ways. It’s just not worth it. Period.

This has led so many people down the rabbit hole of inauthenticity and burnout.

Algorithms (AI) now control most of the internet. And it will only get worse from here.

In order to even be seen (or listed anywhere in people’s feeds), you need to design content for the AI algorithm, not what you’re truly interested in.

I see this on YouTube quite a bit. People create content that is over-the-top, unreal, fake, and weird. It’s a bit unsettling to me to see people sell out like that. They know it needs to be sensational or people won’t watch it, share it, or “like” it. And if they don’t do that, the content is deprioritized. Nobody will see it.

The best content I’ve ever seen online has very few followers and very few views. That says a lot to me—volumes, in fact. I get it. My interests and commerce have very little in common.

It’s a game that deals with eyeballs, clicks, and revenue.

Quinn by the Palm Trees - Las Cruces, New Mexico. November 2024

SO WHAT’S YOUR POINT?

I make art and write primarily to quell my existential concerns. That’s first and foremost.

I study, write, read, and explore in hopes of understanding the human condition a bit better. I want to understand myself better, too.

That’s important for me because I would like to contribute on the macro level (big picture) of conversation about existential struggles. I’m not concerned about whether I’ll be remembered or not—I know I won’t be.

I want to add a line to the discourse—even anonymously—that is helpful in some way of making existing a little easier to understand. I want to share ideas about creativity and psychology. That’s all I want to do—Becker would say I’m grasping for symbolic immortality—and I would say he’s probably correct.

To reiterate, nobody cares about my photographs, paintings, or art. They don’t care about some obscure anthropologist’s theories I espouse. They don’t care about what degrees I have or what exhibitions or books I’ve published. Nobody cares about what I think in general.

What people care about is furthering their existence—supporting and bolstering their worldviews or meaning systems—with ideas and information that support them.

If I offer a nugget of information or inspiration here or there that they can connect to, that’s all that matters. They’ll take it, and they’ll move on to the next resource to see what they can get. That’s all.

In the end, it’s all meaningless. We’re just trying to lean on whatever we can to get through each day.

If you can see yourself as an anonymous contributor to the “big picture,” you will not only bolster your self-esteem; you’ll be more in touch with what’s real and not connected to an illusion of ego and importance.

Think about your cosmic insignificance. I really like what Zapffe said in The Last Messiah, "The life of the worlds is a roaring river, but Earth's is a pond and backwater. The sign of doom is written on your brows—how long will you kick against the pinpricks?"

I know you don’t care, but from this point forward, the only place you’ll find my work is here and on my YouTube channel. Feel free to join in or not. It’s all going to be okay—go the way of the grasshopper and be content. That’s what I’m trying to do.

“…that it takes sixty years of suffering and effort to make such an individual, and then he is good only for dying. This painful paradox is not lost on the person himself — least of all himself. He feels agonizingly unique, and yet he knows that this doesn’t make any difference as far as the ultimates are concerned. He has to go the way of the grasshopper, even if takes longer.”

— Ernest Becker