I understand what you're getting at; I just don't buy it. (Yes, that means that we're all just beating a dead horse, but isn't that what makes art and philosophy wonderful?)
Personally, I find existential emptiness to be a beautiful thing. I maintain a sort of sadomasochistic relationship with the universe; the totally absurd meaninglessness of all things is, to me, frightening, bittersweet, beautiful, hilarious, and altogether intoxicating. I want to run and hide but I can't look away. That's where much of my writing comes from-- not from the belief in order or intent, but the insanity of being a slave to my own irrational need for meaning that does not exist.