A long time ago, on a vast plateau in central France, I was helping some friends build a wooden house. The spring of 2013 had just arrived, the air was getting warm, and the snow from a few weeks earlier had been replaced by rain. We were in the middle of digging holes for the foundation but thwarted by large chunks of pure granite. In between sessions with the jack-hammer, we’d swing our picks and chip away at the crumbling boulders buried beneath the wet earth. We talked about many things while we worked and eventually reached the subject of contemporary nihilism. All of us had been critiqued by nihilists for a variety of reasons with our efforts labeled as social, liberal, positivist, or reformist. In particular, my French friends had been accused of “entering retirement” with their cabins on the plateau. Just as this fact was relayed to me, the clouds broke open and allowed the sunlight to hit our faces. Before anyone could speak, two rainbows appeared no more than twenty feet away, towering over our holes in the ground. All we could do was laugh in joy, because these things don’t just happen. Shortly after this, we began to discuss the Imaginary Party and its implications for the future of struggle.