It doesn’t save us. It doesn’t redeem the world. It doesn’t change anything, probably. But it’s there.
What’s there?
Just anarchy. Just the burning essence of non-organisation and non-management.
Anarchy – that’s the lightning bolt. Zapping down. Lighting up the night.
The lightning that strikes through everything. Through each of us, even.
Freedom – that’s another word for it. Freedom that comes from outside. Just … striking down.
And it doesn’t do anything, doesn’t change anything. It’s just … there. But it isn’t there. It strikes through what’s there.
Holy anarchy. A freedom that isn’t even yours. That comes from – where? From without. Utterly so. From God, maybe. The lighting is God. The breach in the world.
The lightning could just set fire to the world. Like, a celestial correction. Or extinction.
And it will just destroy what should be destroyed. What deserves to be destroyed.
Anarchy that knows that things are Wrong, capital w. Anarchy Indistinguishable from destruction. But that’s really creation. Sky-zapping creation …
Lightning warns us. It’s a sign. A sign of what? That all of this must be brought to a close.
But I don’t believe that.
It’ll be the tenderest thing when we’re finally destroyed. The kindest thing. The greatest favour.
You are such a masochist.
Something wants to destroy us. And that’s what I want, too. The eyes of the universe should shut. And our eyes should shut, too.
What’s actually wrong with you? Because something’s very wrong.
Not as wrong as, like, the entire universe. See, I’m only wrong because the universe is wrong.
So you’re blaming the universe for making me such a nutter.
Only when the universe is destroyed will things be fixed.
And when we’re destroyed.
Exactly.
A universe should know when to end, shouldn’t it? It’s a question of taste. Timelines should really be finite. A universe should know when to lay down its head and close its eyes. A universe should want peace, right? It should sleep and we should sleep and that should be it.
Need some new kind of bomb. We need some act of cosmic terrorism. We need to destroy reality as such.
Some ontologically explosion. That’s what’s needed. To blow a hole in this reality and just step on through.
Is that how it works?
And how are they doing on the real timeline? Does it suck a lot less?
It’s not going full authoritarian, that’s what I reckon. It’s not full tilt totalitarian.
Is it thunder, then the lightning, or lighting, then thunder?
The lightning comes first, dummy.
This time, I reckon thunder comes first. So listen out for it. There are supposed to be seven claps. Seven peals. And then there’ll be lightning. It’ll strike through this whole universe.
And then what?
I don’t know. It’ll light up all the darkness. And show what it is …
Is that all?
It’ll strike through every cell, through every atom. We’ll all be lit up from within. There’ll be an explosion of light.
So we’re waiting for the thunder. Can you hear it?
I can hear rumbling. Like, some earthquake, deep underground.
That’s the thermal energy bore. They’re sending it down into the mantle, in search of energy.
False thunder, right? Just like the holograms are false light.
All the institutions are to be struck by lightning. And we’re the lightning.
Are we?
Or we’re the channel for the lightning. We’re the lightning rod. We’ve got to transform the lighting into a life worth living.
Is that our mission?
I don’t know what it means.
We were the lightning rod, that’s what Cicero told us. And we were supposed to receive it. And channel it. And turn it into something that can be lived.
But why us? What was it about us?
We were naturally antinomian, she said. Naturally amorphous and anarchistic and that kind of thing. By dint of what we were. Cicero saw it in us. Because we were always so drunk and unruly. Always so wonderfully working class, she said. Working class in the academy! And that’s why she gave us apocalyptic names.
A flash of lightning in the world’s night. That would show up this world as what it was. That would light up the night, for a moment. Show the world’s night for what it was. A prison house. A hollow cell.
The flame of love – that’s what Cicero called it. Sometimes she spoke as if it were a matter of destroying the world. Everything! Sometimes as if it was a matter of mending, fixing and repair. Lifting the world from its depths.
The madness of anarchy. Of antinomianism. The flame between us. That’s what she saw. The apocalyptic fire of revelation. The lightning rod using and taming divine energy.
Work in Progress 