Every day, the compromise. Every day, living what we should not live. What should not be acceptable to live.
Every day, the contract is broken. The social contract. The existence contract. The ontological contract. The life and death contract.
Every day, we learn it anew: that we should not bother. That we should not be alive.
Every day, trying to rise up against the fatality. Trying to protest the fatality. And falling again, because of the fatality.
We want to die for keeps. We want to perma-die.
Nothing ever rises to apocalypse. The world never just bursts spontaneously into flame. The world itself can’t be bothered to end. The universe limps on.
We haven’t reached the right level of hatred.
We don’t hold ourselves in sufficient tension with what things are.
Hatred should be a purifying blast, like when Cyclops takes off his glasses in X-Men. There’s a way of destroying the world in hatred.
There’s a practice. An asceticism. There’s a whole ethos of world-disgust.
Hatred’s preparatory. It’s a making way.
For what?
For love – don’t you see?
They’ll send their secret police. They’ll open the new concentration camps. They’ll beat us. Extract confessions. They’ll beat us. They’ll humiliate us, publically. They’ll inject their filth into us. They’ll pollute our bloodstreams. They’ll alter us. They’ll fuck with our genomes. Nothing will be enough for them but transhumanism. They’ll want us to be part of their new species.
They’re building underground bunkers – why? They’re spending billions to live underground. Why? What do they know what’s coming?
Why are they allowed to get away with this? Why are they permitted these grandiose plans? Their demonism?
Where’s the counter-force? Where’s the corrective? Where’s the evidence of God?
It’s their madness we’re infected with. It’s their madness that has sent the world mad.
And does it infect us, their madness? Has it touched us, too? Have we gone weird, gone mad?
New twists on demonism. New horrors. New perversions. New twistings. New tortures.
The nihilized world. The finished world.
The deepest nihilistic fall of the world.
It is necessary to hate the world.
An antichrist move – that’s what this is. It has all the fucking signs.
How much longer do we have to live?
Is this living? Does this count?
We got lost. On the way to where? Where were we supposed to be going?
We’ve stumbled across it. We found it.
Found what? The secret. The missing … link. The missing piece. What we forgot. What we forgot we forgot. And that we’ve found again.
We’re quotations. On the lips of God. No, on the lips of ‘God’. We quote. We repeat. We say it again – all the old stuff. All the archaic stuff.
Does the horror know itself as horror? Does it feel its own horror? Is it innocent, in its horrifyingness?
The urgency of the lack of urgency. The emergency of the non-emergency. The evil of the lack of obvious evil. The apocalypse of the non-apocalypse. This is how they’ll fool us. By making it appear so normal.
The cancer of the universe.
They’ve poisoned the sky. They’ve poisoned the air. They’ve poisoned the earth.
I’ve noticed a change in the quality of my despair.
Have you?
In its flavour. It’s not the same as it was.
Work in Progress 