Limbo

When will the great crash come? When, the great financial collapse? The end of the fiat currencies? The great Reckoning? When will the fall-apart come? When, the general ruination? When, the general Collapse?

We’re ready. We’re prepared. Our souls have already been hollowed out.


We’re already there! We already live in Limbo! We’re already in the afterlife! Already posthumous! The world’s already washed its hands of our kind. What we do doesn’t matter. What we are doesn’t matter.

We’re perfectly – useless. And liberated into uselessness. Freed into it, as into the sky. The sky of perfect uselessness. As good for nothings. As unproductives. As idlers in the garden of non-knowledge.


We’ve already had the lobotomy. We’ve already been turned inside out.

We died a long, long time ago. And we’re used to it. We take it for granted, our posthumous lives. We’re nothing other than posthumous. As though we’d been dead for fifty thousand years. For fifty thousand generations.


Our poor heads don’t work, and they’ve never worked. Lost in after-death clouds. In after death vagueness. There’s nothing clear about us. Noting determinate.

We’re like those people of lower than 80 IQ who will never be good for anything. Like the unborn. Like the babies who died in childbirth and float forever in Limbo.

We’re the blessed ones. We’re the unsaved and unsavable. We’re nymphs. We’re orphans. We’re the Lost Boys and Girls.

We were bashed on the head. We’re Simple. We’re Touched. We’re Foolish.

A beautiful stupidity. A gently retardation. We lag behind the world, and behind everything.