Disgust

It’s all about nature perpetuating itself. Like we need more nature. Like we need more life … I’m sick of life …

We’re like some sick bubbling. Festering. Like a giant compost heap. Sprouting toadstools, or whatever.

We’re some dreadful growth. Some infestation of the earth. Some scum … Some disgusting multiplication …

 

Why can’t we accept we’re just being fooled … by our own bodies. That we’re liars. That we’ve been lying all our lives. That our lives are lies.

Biology’s fooled us. We’re … gene perpetuationmaking machines, that’s all. That’s what it’s all about. God … It’s humiliating. And we invented God and Meaning so we wouldn’t feel so humiliated …

Evolution’s humiliated us … Nature’s humiliated us …

 

Nature’s a joke – a cosmic joke. Something that went unchecked. That was allowed to be. To sprawl. To take over a planet. And then … become self-conscious enough to know its own disgustingness. To know itself as joke. To see it in the mirror. As sheer, laughing futility. As sheer laughter at itself.

 

Hatred of ourselves as natural. Revulsion of ourselves as part of nature, that’s all that can justify us. To say we weren’t fooled. To say that we can’t be consoled by the lie of the body.

 

Our self-disgust. Our instinctive horror at everything.

 

And we’re supposed to think it’s a gift – all of life. That it was given to us. That we should be grateful for living. That to live at all is miracle enough.

 

And killing ourselves would be disgusting too. What a mess. What a disgusting mess. It would pile disgust on top of disgust …

 

We’re, like, the universe soiling itself.

 

This nihilism. I’m choking on nihilism.

 

This is where my godlessness has led me … God stops the infinite regress … The dreadful spiralling into NOTHING. Into NOWHERE. These thoughts of thoughts of thoughts. This ceaseless … melodrama.

 

Apes realising that they’re apes. The disgusting discovering that they’re disgusting. That they’re fucked in the head. That they never had a chance. That they were always fooled. That they fooled themselves. Their hormonal systems … Their endocrinal systems … Every bone in their bodies – in our bodies. Every cell, craving … what? … to make more of itself …

 

It’s going faster, our decline. It’s increasing. This acceleration into nowhere. It’s becoming more complex. We’re making more of a mess.

 

There’s no end to this experiment. No limit. We experiment on ourselves. The experiment experiments. For no purpose. Without reason. Just because … there’s nothing better to do, in a universe of lies.

 

In a universe that just lies. In a universe that just mocks itself. For, like, an audience of NO ONE. For empty skies. For the absent fucking divinity. For the great NOTHING. The great FUCK ALL. The great GO FUCK YOURSELVES.

 

Mockery, echoing out into NOWHERE. In which we laugh at ourselves laughing at ourselves. Mirrors reflecting themselves into the INFINITE NOTHING.

 

What do we want? What do we WANT?

An end to this. An end to … being fooled. Just some great full stop. The fucking  apocalypse. Just to set a limit.

It needs to be rounded off. It needs to be completed. A stop to the spasming. To the screaming and the laughing and the noise.

Silence – wouldn’t that be perfect? Responding to the silence that is the universe. Echoing the great silence, the great darkness. Echoing the NOTHING.

That’s we can do: show the nothingness in all things, the futility of all endeavours. The great pointlessness. The great randomness.

 

Why does there have to be MORE? More mockery. More farce. More of this. More of you and I. More pseudo philosophy. More pretend philosophy.

More gasping. More crying upwards. More living death. More death alive. More the usual usual. More mornings, more afternoons, more evenings. More weeks and months. My God.

Accelerating into futility. Nothing-ing forever.

 

All this … discourse. This talk for nothing, about nothing, in nothing. Which means nothing. That’s just nothingness talking. That’s nihilism’s speech, nihilism’s echoing. Against the walls. Against the ceiling.

 

Here to sound an alarm. To make it heard. To let it resound.

The scream that screams NOTHING. Not even a cry for help. Not even a protest.

 

Here we are, stupidity’s flower, mediocrity’s bloom. Offering our stupidity to the night. To the sky.

To the … chemtrails, anyway. To the aluminium in the air. To the barium that’s falling over everything. To the caesium in our cigarettes …

 

The destroyers are at work – of course they are. Do they think they’re doing it for our good? Do they give themselves that alibi? Do they try to deceive themselves about their motives? Or have they left that behind?

Is it pure venality. Pure evil. Evil, multiplying. Through some kind of enthusiasm. Or obsession. Or compulsion. To see where it will take the. To see where it will lead. To see what they can do. Evil’s, like, self-propelling.

Have they sold their souls? Did they ever have souls?

 

There’s so much I have to say. I could just spew and spew.

 

So much evil and so much horror. Running through us. Coursing through us.

We’re filth. We see filth and are filth. We breathe filth. It’s swill, it’s all swill. Running through everything. The universe is made of swill. World-swill. Foaming fucking swill.

 

The death drive … what happened to that? Everything seems so indecently alive. God. Shamelessly alive … Burgeoningly alive … Just continuing. Spreading. Multiplying itself. Endlessly. Unabashed. With nothing to give it pause. Nothing that makes it hesitate. Question.

 

This is a place where I can … talk. Where I can … say anything. It’s like I’m being channelled by the self-disgust of the universe. Like my self-disgust is the universe’s self-disgust. And vice versa.

That’s a lot of disgust.

 

See, we’re peculiarly well placed to understand the universe’s self-disgust. Given that we’re full of disgust. Full of horror. Given that we hate ourselves … It’s a good start to understand the self-hatred of Everything. Of life, anyway.

 

Because we let it resound through us. Because it sings through us. It finds, in us, a vehicle. It finds a way to speak. Because of us. Because of who we are.

It can give voice to itself. Consider itself. Contemplate itself. Be itself. Enjoy itself. Its peculiar way of being. In us, as us, because of us. Nothing other than us. We ourselves …

 

This is who we are: the doom speakers. Destroyed universe speakers. Degeneration speakers. We’re voicers of disgust’s disgust. Of horror’s horror. We let horror be fluent in horror. Speak of nothing other than horror.

 

We never asked for this. We never wanted this … elevation. This election. Or is it a degradation …?

That our self disgust would join the greater self-disgust. That our self horror would join the horror-at-itself of the universe.

 

Have we actually reached peak disgusting?

 

The same general hovering pissedness. The same general intoxication. The same stupefaction. Of the good kind? Of the bad kind?

As drunk as we usually get. As … wandering. As … self destructive. And why shouldn’t we be?

All the good energies we’ve turned on ourselves. We’re busying torturing ourselves. Vivisecting ourselves. We’re busy with autohorror. With self-disgust. We’re appalled! Of course we are! With ourselves – who else?

All this beer and what for? All this whiskey and what for? Where is it leading? Nowhere! Of course! As usual! Never anywhere, as usual!

 

Our self-hatred, part of the self-hatred of the world. Our self-ruination, part of the self-ruination of the world.

 

We haven’t yet risen to our heights, which is to say our depths. We haven’t found ourselves, which is to say lost ourselves. We aren’t yet ruined. Not totally.

 

We need an Interpreter. A Commentator. To show us our true Significance. The Significance of our insignificance. The Importance of our non-importance.

 

An ardency for what? An intensity, for what? A sense of mission, but for what?

What is all this for?

 

In everything we do or say, the same message: stop us. Stop us now.

In everything we do or say: Prevent us from doing this. Stop us from doing this. We don’t want to do this. Don’t let us go on.

In everything we do or say: Take us down. Rugby-tackle us. That we were allowed to get this far was already a scandal. But that we’re allowed to go further?

In everything we do or say: Pull the emergency break. Press the emergency stop. Assassinate us. Sniper-bullet us. Put us down.

 

We’ve been produced by the madness of the world. We’re what happens when the world’s gone crazy.

 

Nothing ever seems to resolve. There’s some gathering crisis, but it just keeps gathering. The storm never breaks.

If only there was something we could do to hasten it. To bring it closer.

Why – why do you want the end?

Because it would put an end to a phase. Because something might begin again.

And wouldn’t you like for things to begin again?

Because it would put an end to us. With all our longing. All our aching.

Not me – I don’t long. I don’t ache.