The certainty of the fucking end. The most beautiful thought … The most irresistible thought … The most seductive thought. It’s coming. The end is fucking nigh.
Just imagine the world were ending tonight. That this was the last night. So beautiful.
The great no-more. The great finish line. The great guillotine blade, flashing down. The beauty of starlight on the blade. Chopping down. Cutting down.
And your head severed from your neck, flying out.
Cruelty – that’s what we want. A cruel, but quick death. Not torture – we’ve had enough of torture. Every day is fucking torture. Time is torture.
The point is an end of time. The point is the cut off. The cutting off the head of time. The point is the end. The point is the severing.
A cauterized wound. A burnt-clean wound.
Just a blow – the swordstroke – and the smooth wound.
So cut our throats. Strike us dead – all at once. Death at one blow. Death, sudden. Death, lightning-striking. We don’t want to wait any longer. Waiting itself is torture.
Let it end – tonight. Let the world end – tonight.
Every drinking night is a desire-for-the-world’s-end night. To drink is to desire the end. To drink for the end. To toast the end. To laugh at the prospect of the end.
We’re coming to it, the end. We’re rushing forward to meet it, the end. Just as it’s rushing to meet us. Our hour, the end. What will save us: the end. The axe blade falling. The flashing light, reflected on the blade.
Death comes, like God. Or is it God coming, like death?
Death’s approach, God’s approach: pure mercy. Finitude. The deliverance of the limit. The fact that it doesn’t have to go on forever. That the death sentence will be carried out. That the judgement will be served.
Round me off. Round off my life. Bring it to an end, a perfect end. Let there be no more. Relief. Release. A gasping upward. A cry of relief, upwards. That there will be no more. That time will be at an end – for me. That an apocalypse will come – for me.
And what will be revealed? A world, without me. The world, minus me. The perfection of the world, without me. The wound healed. Negation negated. A perfect plenitude. The world healed – of me. And me healed – of the world. Suits us both …
Like being forgiven. Like being pardoned of sins.
The world will be healed of you – of your memory. You needn’t trouble the world any longer. You needn’t be like a bad dream of the world. Like a nightmare of the world.
We didn’t fuck up the entire world.
We will be forgiven. You will pass out of this life.
The evil purged. Catharsis – of the world. The world’s happy. The world’s relieved.
Our kind will pass out of existence. We won’t last. We can’t last. We’ll be bred out.
We’re extraneous. Superfluous. Our kind aren’t needed. The world’s had had enough of our kind. And rightly so.
We’ve had enough of us. We’ve been here too long – we know that.
Now for our last words. Our words have always been last words. We’ve said too many last words. Our entire oeuvre: last words. Everything we’ve ever said: last words.
Our last silence. The relief of not having many words to say. Of not having to let more words loose. Of not having to fill up the world with more words. Not saying stuff. Of having no more to say.
An end, the end. It’s a beautiful thought. God, saying: enough.
Kneeling down and thanking God. Kneeling and saying, thanks for death. Saying, thanks for the beauty of death. The absoluteness of death. The cleanness of death.
We’ve outlived our time. We’d always outlived it. We were born wrong. What remains is to correct the error.
The great Simplicity. The great Ordering.
It’s here; it’s come. It’s welcome. We’ve wanted nothing else.
The correction – celestial. The end – heaven come to earth.
God, the executioner. God, the ender of pain. God the suffering-ender. God, the silencer of screams. God, the annihilator. Who twists the neck in mercy. Who crushes the skull in mercy.
God, the merciful. Who does what is needed.
The divine DIGNITAS. The godly strangler. The celestial executioner. Who drowns the kittens …
Work in Progress 