Our Credo

Demons sweep through the world. They’ve tuned the madness spigots on. They’re flooding the world with madness. Deliberately.

We’re being deliberately deranged – of course. It’s being done for a reason As part of an agenda. This is deliberate social engineering.

The want us confused. Reeling. Perpetually knocked off balance. It’s just one thing after another. One kind of madness and then another. On purpose!

They want us mad, too. They want us deranged. So we don’t know where we are. So we don’t know what’s up and what’s down. They want us in flight, just as they’ve put the world in flight.

Blows from all sides. Attacks. Nihilism attacks. Senselessness attacks. Quite deliberate. They want to catch us off guard. Surprise us. Just when we think we were okay, another one comes – another attack. An attack from another direction. From every fucking vector.

 

The world is lies and poison. That’s all. Lies – poison. And what else?

Is this the final assault? Never. Always more. Until – until what? Until their new order is complete. But it will never be complete.

Always programming us. Always social engineering. Mass manipulation. Steering. They’re pushing us in certain directions. Super nudging. The behavioural psychologists are having a field day.

And we can’t fight back. Unless we separate ourselves. Set up our own enclave. Let the madness swirl about us. And step back. And keep our distance from it. Enjoy it, like some fireworks display. Get all meta about it.

Can we do that?

 

Is it a test, this timeline? Who’s testing us? And for what?

It’s made us desperate, this timeline. It’s made us cry out, this timeline. It’s made us beg, this timeline.

And yet we never sank to our knees. Never prayed. We were never capable of that. Why not? It was a … spiritual opportunity. Why could we never abandon ourselves? Trust another. Why could we never simply give ourselves up? Offer up ourselves, our lives. Everything we were.

Wasn’t that the time to do it? When we were on the brink of … whatever it was. Why not then? What held us back? Why were we so attached to ourselves? Why did we want to keep hold of ourselves? When we needed Help. Why couldn’t we admit it that?

Why couldn’t we turn ourselves over to someone else? To something else. We were on the brink of it, weren’t we? Why couldn’t we go further? Until all we were was Asking. Until all we could do was Kneel. Why couldn’t we admit that we were without resources? That there was no earthly help for us.

Why weren’t we strong enough? Why weren’t we weak enough? Our despair wasn’t complete, after all. Our despair wasn’t deep enough. We hadn’t despaired of the earthly, after all. We hadn’t give our earthly hopes, after all. The dread wasn’t driven deep enough in us. We weren’t actually crucified. The suffering hadn’t reached its truest pitch.

And it still hasn’t. There’s still further for us to fall.

 

A conversion. A turning. Why weren’t we capable of that? Why weren’t we able to lift our sufferings and present them to God? Why couldn’t wegive what we were to God? Why couldn’t we offer our suffering to the Most fucking High?

Couldn’t we feel his presence, very close? Wasn’t he there, at our edge. Just beyond us. Wasn’t he all around us? Why couldn’t we make the final move? Why couldn’t we edge closer?

Why could we cross that line? What stopped us? What in us, stopped us? What held us back? Did we lack, finally, the desire to pray?

Did we ever pray? Did our inner voices ever ring out? We were never able to reach pure ardency. Pure prayer. Pure questioning. Of everything. Of ourselves. Of even our power of questioning.

We could never offer ourselves up. Never sacrifice – ourselves. Our desperation was never deep enough. Never reached enough. Our river never reached the ocean. Never ran out into the expanse.

We never lay out under the sky, under the night. Never gave ourselves up. Never asked to be taken. We never reached the end of our strength, did we? Never found our way to the end.

We never lost ourselves. Always some little piece of ego, hanging onto itself. Believing in itself. Always a final atheism. A final egotism. Egoistic. We never came to our utmost edge. Never took the step. And will we ever?

 

Io’s conversion. Why does it mean so much to you?

It was something I could not do. I didn’t have that ability. Or non-ability. Or whatever it is. To put myself in the hands of … whatever … To entrust myself to … whatever. To lift myself towards it. To offer myself to it. My life. To put my life in God’s hands.

I never became just pure yearning. Just … the desire to be converted. I think that would be beautiful. I could never let go enough. Could never … give myself enough. Couldn’t yield that final bit of control.

Like … when you don’t want to know what it means anyone. When you’ve stopped trying to be intelligent.

 

We abase ourselves … apparently. We do ourselves down, in what we say. In our … piss-taking. That’s our schtick. But we’re still too attached to it: our capacity to debase ourselves Our inventiveness in doing ourselves down.

Virtuosos of despair: that’s what we’ve taken ourselves to be. Which means we’ve never reached it, our despair. Just when despair would claim us, we’ve saved ourselves by speaking of it. By ringing changes upon it. We’ve never felt despair – real despair. Only its approach. Which we ward away.

We’re too eloquent about our despair to really despair. Just as we’re too intelligent about our idiocy to be real idiots. Despair and stupidity … we’ll never know what they are. We’ll never reach true despair and true stupidity. We’ll always save ourselves from their depths.

Because we’re together. Because we talk about despair and stupidity all the time. Because … we laugh about them, and about everything. We save ourselves through talk. The miracle of being able to speak, and together. We share … whatever it is we share.

Ultimately, we have faith in friendship, not in God. Ultimately, we are intelligent together, even intelligent about our stupidity. Ultimately we are too articulate. We talk too much …

Unless … it’s talking that saves us. The capacity to speak. No: to be called, by the presence of others. Just as Abraham was called. And Moses was called.

By God … not by other idiots.

What if the caller was God. What if God calls through us. What all of us together called to each other like God. And we spoke, in response. And what we said … what we said saved us. Because it meant we’re not solipsists. Not atheists. Not atoms, all alone.

That we can speak. That we are called to speak. And that others around us are called in turn. That we addressed to others – to each other. Responded to each other. In a way that … surprised us. We said new things. We invented new things to say …

Despite our so-called gloom. Despite our alleged idiocy. Speech was our genius, after all. Speech was our happiness, all along. Speech banishes all despair. And isn’t that our brilliance? Isn’t it our light?

But it’s not our brilliance. It’s not our light. For isn’t God at play between us? Isn’t God calling us through each other? Isn’t speech our religion? Isn’t dialogue our church? Isn’t speech transcendence, and right away? Don’t we leave ourselves behind, and all at once?

This is our credo: we believe in speech. Our faith is here, right here, in the way we talk. The way we find speech. Even when things are terrible. Even when things are at their worst. Even when the world is full of demons.

Isn’t that the beauty? Everything’s in what we say. Our yearning. Our desire. Speech bears us. Lifts us. Lightens us. Offers us up to nothing. Our words – to no one. To oblivion. What we say, that none of us will remember. Hope. Hope in speech uttered and forgotten.

 

It’s hardly going to defeat evil, is it?

It doesn’t have to defeat it. Just suspend its reign, for a while. Just hold it back, for a while. A sun shaft. The clouds, parting.

Is that enough?

It has to be enough. The lightness of life. It doesn’t last. Nothing lasts. Anyway, I think of it as eternity, kind of. As opening unto another order of time. Or maybe it just stops time altogether, I don’t know. Somewhere, somehow, we’re always joking and laughing. And skylarking.

Somewhere the sun’s broken through the geo-engineered clouds. Somewhere, the strontium and barium and aluminium has stopped falling for a second. And the air we breathe is pure, for a moment. Somewhere – somewhen – there is no poison and there are no lies.

This is how we’re escaping the timeline, don’t you see?

Only for, like, a moment.

But a moment’s long enough.

 

We don’t tell lies when we speak, that’s the thing. We’re not perpetuating the lies. We’re not just passing them on. We’re not, like, poisoning each other.  The opposite: because we’re talking about the lies and about the poison. Which means we triumph over the lies and the poison.

Which triumph over division. Because we’re not divided when we speak. Which is why they hate us speaking. They’ll do anything to stop us.

 

They’re probably listening to us now. The algorithms are listening.

Yeah, but they won’t understand us. They don’t understand joy. They don’t get humour. They don’t see that we’re laughing at them. That all our piss-taking is directed at them.

They’d ban our pisstaking, if they could. No, they’d make us take offence at being taken the piss out of. They’d make us turn on each other. Claim that we’re endlessly triggering each other, or something. Because we weren’t being all positive and affirming …

But what they don’t understand that hate speech is love speech. That piss taking – detailed, careful pisstaking – is exaltation. Hate flips over into love, right?

All working class speech will be offensive in due course. All swearing will be banned …