The World (n.) once stripped of transcendence is merely what it is, and being only what it is, it cannot be borne.
The World (n.) is thoroughly illusion, for whatever has neither meaning nor final reason is an illusion.
The World (n.) is not real: it turned real, is ceasing to be so, and is not yet virtual either, though heading there.
The World (n.) has an intelligence of its own that thinks us, so whether objective reality exists never arises.
The World (n.) without us is a deep fantasy: functioning in our absence, free from any human, all-too-human will.
The World (n.) taken in detail is always perfectly self-evident.
The World (n.) is not striving to exist more or to persevere in being; it is looking, through thought, for the most spiritual way to slip out of reality.
The World (n.) can never be expressed whole: there is no mirror that could catch its reflection, as there is none for the soul, only the void.
The World (n.) has no wish to go on existing; through thought it hunts for the most elegant way to slip out of reality.