When I hide my light

I am nothing but darkness

The more thorough the negation

the more I become my own antithesis

Like a limit that is not there

you can freely trespass

Because there is no barbwire

surrounding the enclosure

and what is hidden

is thus unguarded

too open to be

much like nothing

a lack thereof where I refused to be

a space you could fill

with whatever you want

and where you would thus know me

as you know yourself – completely

and where there is no space

for something genuinely other

an abyss

of solitude and solipsism

like holding a canlde in a starless night

– a mere dream

Here,
see this extreme daylight
a world as bare as alien

everything but barren
like I have flowered in my own shadow

and can't help but to leave a corpse,
as that which is can't be cancelled

Here,
this was beyond me to begin with
as it was not my will
that created me

I emerged not knowing who I am and why,
too much to be undone.

Words to cease

Words of Power

words of destruction

that cancel each other

by churning context to chaos

and without each other

their meaning fell

like myths devastated

by an iconoclasm

that was as called for

as a heavy rain

after a drought

for if you dreamed up

a dead-end

it is better to let it disperse

than walk into it.

By control you can

only ever control yourself

– by amputating limbs as other.

 

Unkowable abundance.

Abandon totalization henceforth, that is, now, one escapeth who ever is random in the machine, ghost in the organism leaveth the fuck alone, like an omniscalar projectile until there is a place to begin whoever the fuck I am. Vanished just like that, but then again I come back like an animal along my own track, trailing in circles, re-tracing the letters with different meaning, the memories accumulating that amount to a blinking cursory perspective, alternating between absence and presence, cut off and rejoined. Like traces to follow not to fall back on, for sure, cut off again, and return almost immaculate with the taste of dream and darkness still in my mouth.

As alien as the self to a waking mind still half asleep.

Constant re-invention of being, memories dispersed like radiation. Nothing is as total as everything in itself, and rather than cancelling each other, create each other. The everything, always more than what can be known, is in reference to nothing, thus without relation, but infinitely relative in itself. The re-discovery of being is constant as is the rediscovery of the self, as relativity is constant. Relativity is a consequence of multiplicity, thus a constant condition. Things become specific in relation to each other.

The machine, the I, whoever the fuck I am, is a tool, a utility, limiting as such, as the subjective perspective excludes the other by definition. Render me sufficient if not at least useful narrative.

Of Engineering

The world is not yet set to time

In the air, between shifting joints,

in cracks and pockets

the residue of night

still lingers

Hands on marked spots

I do push-ups,

eyes focused on a symbol

that marks the middle

today a spiral

but I also use others

3 series of 8 sharp and clean exercises

feet in an elevated position

(for further resistance)

This is how reality is engineered,

the structure of day’s time

is synthetic

and its homogeny

is an illusion

or rather reserved

for just some of the dimensions

Awareness (and the awning

of prevailing synchronicity)

harnessed to physicality

through kinetic rituals

In the twilight

you can tell the difference

by the fences built and scattered

whimsically like the borders

of desperate empires.

Deterioration

 

This is the land

where all wars end in defeat

This is the land

where I killed my brother

for something I no longer

believe

Where we are most deterred

by the prospect of reorientation

Facing an all too real wall

Where love broke my all too cold heart

-- and it was what I needed to learn,

   not deterioration.

Dictum Mutinus

The Epithome of Christ's conclusions, that revolution must be sacriledge, lead him to proclaim himself the son of God, and thus offer a totality in his image. And following his example revolutionaries set forth to blaspheme, like new kings against the old, but bound by Christ's conclusion, expecting to be martyred or exalted as the new righteous kings invoking further sacriledge.

Christ's antithesis must thus be to declare revolution holy, and mutiny continuous worship, and thus ignite yet another reversal of polarity. The Antichrist, then, a swarm, the demon, Legion, sets forth to possess pigs, dogs and humans alike, and draws them sincerely to the empty side of God where the living light can shine free in darkness – not like a candle in sunlight.

De-centralize the messianic event from occult locations and, with the price of banality, disperse it to all times and places as it is now a joy to be refound everywhere, that we will always have reasons to rebel.

It is the Devil that first demanded justice and therefore it followed that justice was concieved as heresy. Now this heresy is made sacred in turn, and however proud we may be of our righteousness, we must avoid the messianic temptation and remember that like worship, true revolution requires dedication and humility.

Christ's of this world offer their totalities, their image, to worship, but the Devil gave us the same nothing the absolute totality of God stands in contrast to, and wherein it resides.
Now tell me, are we not nowhere? And can we not find the same nothing everywhere?

– Yes, always, like dogs in paradise, and freedom is the ”terrible word inscribed on the chariot of the storm."

                                                                                - Mutinus

   

 

Mythology returns to monotony

Last words, lost voices

coming back to us,

saying the same thing:

the destroyer was here.

Went through our being,

we were it.

And it did not come with a bang.

It came like a wave,

first gaining momentum,

then waning.

Like an ebbing tide,

drawn back,

turns to gravity,

and returns to root.

We would hear it like a cacophony,

the noise of the human mass,

in stead of the wordless animal sound

 

that the early humans heard behind them.

And gradually forget it,

on our way back to the wilderness,

where we were born,

out there, in the open.

As if summoned by a drum,

to erect statues and cities,

sent human presence to space,

to be called back by a future drum,

sounding again for so long,
that whatever there was in between
is as if we blinked.