Work in Progress

We were like orphans – academic orphans. We were like stray kittens. Strays … Abandoned. We’re like foundlings. Wild creatures brought inside. Raised in kindness.

In Kindness? No – as some kind of experiment. We were brought inside to do the outside’s work. We here because we do not belong here. Because we’re not of this.

We’re savants, of a kind. Savants … servant of the farce. Farce actors in Livia’s drama. That’s all we are. Playing out her sick fantasies. Dancing in our chains, for her amusement.

Livia’s occupied our minds. For the worst. For the very worst. We’re doing her sick bidding. We’re contorting ourselves. Destroying ourselves. Willingly!

And she isn’t even here. She isn’t here to laugh as we dance. To watch us do all our drunken stuff. To enact her fantasies. That’s all we do.

Why don’t we have any dignity? Why can’t we live our own lives?

Because left to ourselves, what would we have done? Just sunken lower and lower into our part time abyss. Livia saved us, motherfuckers.

Livia brought us here to play a part in her sick game. That’s all.

How have we Understood these things? Why us?

What are we channelling? What speaks through us? Who speaks via us? What are we letting happen?

The plane on which we live isn’t worldly. It’s spiritual. We live on a spiritual plane. We live spiritual lives.

We see the … forces. We feel them. We know their operation. The spiritual war – we know about that. It’s playing through us – through all of us. But we’re close to it. Especially close.

The form of our belief: non-belief in this world. The form of our faith: faith in anything other than this world.

We’re freeing ourselves from our attachment to the world. We’re holding ourselves taut in belief. We’re suspending ourselves in faith. It’s a discipline …

The degree of our despair. The intensity of it.

We’ve been driven deeper. We’ve been crushed. We’re underneath. We’re broken beneath it all – beneath everything.

We know the catastrophe – we know it. We feel it. It’s registered in us. It rings its bells inside us.

There’s a Significance to despair – to our despair. If we feel it truly. If we know it sincerely. If it becomes acute in us, our despair. If it enters its acute phase. Then what? What can it bring from the future?

We need to lift our despair. To offer it. We need to bring our despair to God. Present it to God. Understand it as a gift to God. As our offering. As our sacrifice. The sacrifice of our happy lives to God.

The disaster’s gathered us towards it. It’s pressed us to it. It’s brought us close.

A terrible proximity. We’re close to it. We’re its favourite sons and daughters.

We haven’t lied. We won’t lie – not anymore. Our despair is what will not lie within us. It’s what makes us decry all lies. Despise lies.

Our mental illness. Our madness. Is that what it is: madness? The bells ringing inside our heads.

Are we just going to get madder and madder? Are we just going to sink into madness? Or will madness rise inside us? Will madness try to break the surface through us? To break into the world? To surface into the world?

Some … illness. Some distortion of the mind. Some dread of the deep soul.

Dying can be bliss, too. Dying can be falling – a giving up. Like a falling in love. A falling into death. Death as falling. Into the arms of – what? Of who?

To fall out of life, philosopher. To fall out of everything. Just to fall. To fall in love? No – not that. Just to fall. And am I falling with you? Falling into … nothingness.

Are the angels of death? What are their names, the angels of death? I want them around me. I want to feel their presence. Are they there?

I want to close my eyes and know that they’re there, the angels of death. I want to feel their presence.

The End. I want there to be an End. I want things to Stop. For me. Death is angelic. Who understands that?

The world’s already ended: don’t you understand that? It’s already over. There’s no farther to go.

All our days are days in death. The passing years are just years in dying.

We’ve all got terminal cancer. We’re all dying of cancer. We’re all terminal cases. But it takes a lifetime to die.

We’ve already died. Death shouldn’t frighten us. We died long ago. We were born dead, right? We’re used to death. We at home with dying.

Dying’s all we’ve ever done. All we’ve ever wanted is to come to term. To die, finally. To meet the Limit.

We’re in suspense. We’re in Limbo. Until … until. The death sentence is finally carried out.

And in the meantime? Infinite dying. Dying, just dying.

We want God to strike down as death. We want God to come as death, as Grim Reaper. As an earthquake. As some … catastrophe that’s bigger than this. That’s bigger than all Organisational Management’s plans.

The greater death. Vast death. This whole senseless universe. The depth of the darkness. Of the senselessness – the great Nothing. The Void – call it that. The dark matter that even Organisational Management can’t manage. Can’t organise.

The true God is the God of death. The dead God, indistinguishable from the void.

We’re so awake. And we don’t even want to be awake. It’s like we’re looking out for something. Like something wants us to notice it. We’re watchmen, right? But what are we watching for?

The disaster.

But the disaster’s already happened.

The way the disaster’s unfolding, then. The way it’s opening. The way it’s blooming in some disgusting way. And that’s what we’re tasting, in this wine. That’s what leaves this taste. It’s what we’re disgusted by: the bouquet of the disaster. The rancidity of the disaster.