Our hope: a black dawn is rising. The dark sky is opening. The greater sky. The blacker sky. Our hope: the sky of non-meaning is rising. The nihilistic sky.
To be saturated by it: the nihilistic sky. The sky of nihilism. Passing through us, every pore.
A nihilistic wind is blowing. But a freeing nihilism. A don’t-take-any-of-it-seriously nihilism. A this-is-not-your-world nihilism. An anarchic breeze nihilism.
The greater Sky. The sky of disaster, the stars blown out like candles. That’s our sky. Which makes us laugh. Which our laughter up to. Thank God for that sky, which means we’re never fooled.
The sky that laughs through us. That rips through us. That trembles through us. The sky that shines through our eyes. Our sky. Our relief. Our distance. Which means that we will not be fooled.
Our laughter is the laughter of the sky. Our salvation. Our happiness. Our freedom. Our alibi. Our gladness. The night that we hold between us. That laughs between us.
Work in Progress 