The world’s just some … monstrosity.
But we’re monstrous, too. That’s the thing. There’s something wrong with us, just as there’s something wrong with the world. We’re warped as the world’s warped. We’re twisted as the world’s twisted.
Are we God’s idiots? The devil’s?
Another night. At the pub again.
Must we ratchet it up again? The whole dog and pony act?
No, this isn’t good for us. It isn’t good for the universe.
We see everything apocalyptically. We have an apocalyptic bias. An eschatological bias. A Gnostic bias, probably.
The air hates being the air. The air’s just wandering lost in air. The air, dazed in air. Just like water’s flowing lost in water. Just like the Earth just plunges into Earth.
They’re all waiting for redemption. They’re waiting for their proper names.
The aching of all things in their self-hatred. In their loathing for themselves. In their atheism.
The atheism of air, of water, of the earth. Our own atheism, which is the heart of our self-hatred.
We hate our own nihilism, as the universe hates its own nihilism.
Lost in the coils of our evil. Lost in the coiling, the writhing. Lost in the agitation of our sin. Lost in the deepening of the Fall.
How deep does the boredom go? How deep does it run? The world-disgust? The world-horror?
Deeper than us. It’s the disgust of this world for itself. It’s the horror of the world for what it is. It’s like auto-immunity disease. It’s auto-horror. Self-rejection.
Work in Progress 