Are we really still alive? It astonishes me that we’re still alive. How can we actually still be alive? Really? It’s incredible that we’re still alive.
Are we alive, though? Is this living? Is this supposed to be living? Isn’t this just some sickness. Some sickness of life.
All these leftover religious beliefs. So grotesque. Feasting on religious scraps, like dogs. This and that. This religion and that religious. Some disgusting … syncretism. Some bricolage.
Is this supposed to be religion? Can you just make it up? Religion spits on us. Or it would do, if it wasn’t dead. Religion has absolute contempt. God would despise us, if he knew us. God would laugh at us. Just as we laugh at ourselves.
We all have some condition … there’s no question about it. There’s something wrong. Very wrong. We all suffer from it. But what is it? We’re mad – of course we’re mad – but it’s not even an interesting madness.
There should some … symptomatology of the end. Some reference guide to contemporary madness.
We could be a case study.
We’re not even mad enough to be mad. We’re all too sane. All too lucid. I mean, the mad don’t say they’re mad. They just get on with being mad.
Work in Progress 