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 dictates of the wee willy)

The Epithome of Christ's conclusions that lead him to proclaim himself holy and the son of God, and thus offer a totality in his image, implies that he is not a rebel but a restorer of the righteous order. This of course further implies that after his reign was established rebellion and revolutionary insurgency must be sacriledge. And following his example his disciples set forth not to blaspheme, but to proclaim the righteous and just word of God and his son. And much like any new regime throughout history they would ridicule and scorn the old regime, but bound by Christ's conclusion, expecting to be martyred like their Messiah, or to be exalted as the righteous as Christ’s promised kingdom would finally come to be once and for all and put an end to history.

But, plainly speaking, the agenda of Christ and his disciples was thus nothing but another continuation of totalitarian imperialism barely disguised by the promise of paradise and eternal life as the reward for submission and servitude.

Christ's antithesis, and the antithesis of totalitarian imperialism in any disguise, must thus be to declare revolution holy, and mutiny, constant and continuous rebellion worship, not to yet again ignite another reversal of polarity that would only fortify the logic of domination that has highjacked human history and progress. 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 as the holy work will never be finished.

For it is the Devil that first demanded justice and therefore justice must have been concieved as heresy. Now this heresy is made sacred in turn, and however proud the rebel may be of his/her righteousness, those who take on the task must avoid the messianic temptation and remember that like worship, true revolution requires dedication and humility as there is no absolute truth nor can there be. This because as the devil’s call for justice showed us, God is either a tyrant or has made us free and thus responsible as resbonsibilty and freedom are so intertwined that there is neither without the other but if the other is, then the other is equally implied.

Christ's of this world may offer their ideal totalities, their image to worship, but the Devil gave us the same nothing the absolute totality of God stands in contrast to, and wherein that totality of God resides. Now tell me, are we not nowhere too? And can we not find the same nothing behind everything as the pudenda origo, the cursed (by tyrants) root of all being? Eritis sicut Di, you are gods, as the Serpent told Eve in the paradise, and we were supposed to believe that this is the original sin, the ultimate stain and violation against God that expelled us from the paradise God had given us and Christ promised us again. And yes, if God was a tyrant, this would follow logic, that is, the logic of domination.

If you do not read the bible like the Devil does it implies totalitarian imperialism and arbitrary dicatorship as eternal laws.

Thus the secret hidden in plain sight that puts the Devil in the right, gives Lucifer the light of illumination, follows from the question what right other than his arbitrary decision does God have as beyond him there is nothing, no further context nor cause?

This is why we are God’s equals and as equals have the right to ask what sense there is in his arbitrary decision. And indeed, what sense would there be, if God had given us only one right choice, if he had devised a system were we vote for the only available option that is always to submit to his arbitrary authority? The only freedom we would have would be to choose damnation like the Devil did.

Thus, even if God was real and my salvation would depend on my total submission to his will, I would choose hellfire and rather live like an animal without a soul and side with my organic heart, the pain and suffering of living things that all ultimately have to die.

And consider piss on His sacred sign and image more holy than He is as the piss at least is a revolutionary act.

– Yes, always, like dogs in paradise, even if sometimes hunted like wolves, because ”freedom is the terrible word inscribed on the chariot of the storm".

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.