This is the interregnum between the end and the end. This is the playing out – the endless playing out. In its endless permutations. In its continual descent.
A bottoming-out that never quite bottoms out. An ending that never quite ends. A getting worse endlessly able to get still worse.
The never-ending end. The ceaseless cessation. When will the great finishing actually finish? Never.
Everything is a sign of the end. Everything is calling out to be ended. To be snuffed out.
All of Creation wants death, not just us. Everything wants to end. Cries out for it.
Everything’s ashamed. Has its head bowed. The Creation kneels, asking for the death blow.
The great desire for extinction. For the endgame to give way to the end.
Hasn’t everything served its purpose? Hasn’t everything done what it was made for? Hasn’t it all done enough? Seen enough? Been enough?
It’s gone on too long – of course. Obviously. And everything knows that, just as we know it. It all craves to be over. For the Judgement to be brought. For the end to come. For the blade to fall.
Why this senseless going on? Why this time without meaning? Why this endless andmoreagain?
It isn’t over yet: but why not? Will there be some grand finale? Some apocalypse? Some revelation?
Will we finally learn God’s plan? Will we be shown the Meaning of things? Will we sink to our knees and be actually shown it: the Meaning of things? The true sense of eschatology?
Not just our death wish, but the death wish of Everything. The death dream of everything. The song of death that’s sung by the Creation.
Hasn’t God given up on us? Hasn’t God given up on God? Does God want to die, too?
It’s time, of course it’s time. It’s beyond time.
These are the death agonies. We are the death agonies. The desire to die is agony in us. Everything we say – everything we do – is a way we say, Someone put an end to this.
Someone put it all down, the Creation! Someone place a pillow over its head! Someone administer a lethal injection!. Someone wrap hands around its throat, the Creation! Someone hang it all, the Creation! Someone pick it off with a sniper’s rifle! Someone just explode it, the Creation! Just car-bomb it! Just suicide-bomb it!
Let the logic play out. Let the end actually come to an end. And then what? Will a new cycle of history commence?
I don’t know. All I know is that it has to end.
We have a distaste for the Creation. It smells bad, to us. It tastes disgusting – like a corpse. The corpse of Creation. As though all of the Creation were dead. And had died a long time ago. And no one’s noticed the smell. The stench! Everyone just goes about their business, as though nothing had happened.
And this wine reminds us. This wine wakes us up.
We have to be alert. Our nostrils are filled with the stench. Our mouths … Our entire gustatory tracts. The great rotting and decaying.
The game is up, with this wine. The last hand has been played. The disgusting has finally revealed itself as the disgusting. It can’t pretend any further. The lie is up!
Evil. Malignancy. Chaos. It’s been there since the beginning, and before the beginning. Before the Creation – the act of Creation, there was something, not nothing.
But it wasn’t a thing. It was a teeming. It was a moving horror. A screaming, maybe. A screaming of an ancient god. A blind and senseless god.
There were gods like that, before the Creation. And there’ll be gods like that after the end too. And perhaps they were there all along, hiding. Skulking in the shadows.
But it’s here at last, the last day, the disgusting day. The day dawns, and it’s a disgusting dawn. Like cancer, spread everywhere. The cancer’s already spread. It’s a terminal case. It always was – a terminal case. That’s matter, right?
Our essential problem is how we live after the end. After we’ve died, which we already have.
So many deaths. Too many, really. How many times have we died?
A god is screaming, in this wine. A god is blind and screaming. Leviathan, maybe. Does Leviathan scream? And what about the Bug? Is the Bug singing in this wine?
Work in Progress 