I don’t really know where to take this blog. The creative forces and the person that made it are gone or present. A difficult statement and discussion of presence in the presence of Derrida. Every goal is just a wish towards greater defeat.
I don’t know what to say, if anybody is still reading this. Just to say, I am personally fine just that my own rejection of reification and higher values is reaching its logical limit.
Be it irony, sense, politics, etc. One can joke a lot about these things, and even feign a sense of humour or reality, but the void will remain.
As if there was other choice than the void. Human existence is constantly repeating. The consciousness is so out of our grasp that we lack basic concepts to debate it or universalise it besides referring to own personal experience of existing. As if the existence of an other wasn’t already dependent on language. Then, we give our language as the only presentence of existence which we can do.
A painting by an elephant.
I used to try to convince, present or even be marketable on this blog. Now, I hardly have anything to say. The ideals and aesthetics are nothing compare to ones integration into reality and unreading of the self. Antidepressants are just a tool for flattening ones existence to the point it will align with the needs of the Leviathan and to become.
I cannot even imagine myself, or anyone else who would be disconnected with the Leviathan. The bandits and pirates steal… in the end… for financial goals. Cynical politicians use their positions to use their power. The only beliefs that are allowed fro the leviathan are those without power nor characterised by power. Anonymity is lost with any ambition as Leviathan requires to come out of the shadows if you have any tasks which aim to disrupt its existence or to just participate in its existence louder.
Shadows themselves are gone and will not come back. The Leviathan reflects.
To be lost and redeemed can be nothing and everything. Alpha and Omega.
Probably these artful improvisations and streams of thought are the essence of my own creativity. Not a direct philosophical argument, more of a critique and a manifestation of my own views. Which maybe are only presentable in this form.
In this essay, the attempt was to
All the debates are debates about environment. The environment which we destroyed to make toys for children and for adults which have no meanings of themselves. Woe to the archaeologists of the future. To understand the deeper meaning of FunkoPops, no matter what order of knowledge they have. The only thing that can be sure of our regard of future civilisations to us is that we were wasteful. An ancient man was virtuous. A medieval man was pious. A renaissance man was creative. The modern man has only waste to prove his ingenuity and creativity, as they are the only results of his idealised self which is a necessity for post protestant capitalism, as in this system anyone has to be their perfect selves and that self needs to be provided with perfect products to adopt it. The rejection of this will find their own products, and if it cant one is found into becoming the pariah of our caste system.
I have glitches on the side of my display. I cant even fathom how the tasks I have undertaken will be finished. How does this blog affect my employabiltiy,as that is the largest value one has in presenting oneself. What a shitshow really, when ones views on any topic are affecting ones position in the society. Every place a market square.
The void that is inside of this society unconscious is so unaddressed that this unaddresal is a cultural achievement onto itself. It would take an infinite mission to ev3en point to it, and the act of pointing to the void is an attempt to give focus to what cannot be focused on. And the question is why this void? Be it an application of psychoanalysis for marketing? Be it a denial of religion and some post-empiricist and naive realist reading of all that is and isn’t real. Fucking hell.
The worst part is that we cannot suffer properly really. We are far from a strive and hunger of 19th century factory workers, of 11th century peasants, of 1st century’s slaves. Of what revolt, of what working class to speak when a person earning a wage that barely can be called decent can afford Xbox series s and a new TV. Even if it takes financing, it just lives sheer irony in the part of brain that suffers, as to even create it. The suffering then just becomes institutionalised and called depression or anxiety, as if calling them that has to do with anything. Or better yet, let’s call the entire condition of a person as mentally sick. The beauty of positivist idea of mentally sick is that one can extend and broaden it as much as they want, and even if one is cynical, the categories themselves are so hegemonic that the pure ascription of a sickness is giving of that sickness. Nearly a power of a God, but this time given by a smiling psychologist who does not even know the half of the truth.
Every escapism is just a screaming of meaninglessness, of nonsense. Even the pure attempt at aesthetical change is within a medium of a video game, music, travel (forgive me Allah), anime, movie, Wikipedia page, ancient writing, ancient writing in ancient language. Escapism remains an escapism as the fundamental rules of the reality do not change, and thus one can only sit there and look for a ways of an escape. But there is no escape. The escape would imply a disappearance of a world of values and meanings which has been for a personal eternity. The other world existed, but how can one come into other world where all they have is bunch of old currency from an exchange on a curb of road. I mean even Greeks gave the dead an obol, so maybe that is just a calling to something that is eternal.
An exception has to be given to the escapism of drugs. Maybe there is a value in beliefs of Burroughs and de Quincey, but what happens is that system glorifies all drugs which are the best for consumption and bans all those which are a negative. And some of these banned are glorified as to create an illusion of a forbidden fruit. In this essay I am not going to say which is which but your opinion is wrong and you know the reasons. Just that the second, at which the brain loses the relation to the orders of meaning, be it due to a disability or intoxication, that is the point which is the only true and real means of escape. And the great irony that one cannot even stay there,matter of fact tan attempt to remain there will cause as high of suffering as one can get for the low price of disposable income that is available to anyone in the Western so ciety.
And the fucking boomers
But then why there is a joy to be seen. Is it just a mirage And then a blinding light comes and we will remain in darkness. Or has it come, and we are all blind in a way that sees. Has to see.
I am somehow infuriated by any call to action, because the calls themselves have the impotency to them that is just lying in the fact of being a part of the same society. How can you talk of sustainability in a world in which Shein is the top brand. What is a revolution where millionaires come and go every day. What if Jesus was born in modern Las Vegas, who then would be the Pilate, who would be Matthew, who would have been Saul and then Paul, as the story told. Even the recent revolutions seem fake, and as recent I mean Cuban revolutions and so on. Current political reactions maybe offer means of escape through their sheer radicalism and hatred for the contemporary. But who the fuck cares about politics when you can get cool ass toys. Let people enjoy things
Unshaken reminder of the unwillingness to give up the values, give up the dignity of being human. But that has gone, as an entire generation gave it away. And as with global economy sadly still being a thing one truly feels stuck and reliant on hope as some sort of walking cane of a person on a wheelchair. Standing up is possible, or was possible, but how can one stand up when there is no representation for standing up, even if there was one would there be a reason to. Stand up how where. The knife that saws off legs is everywhere and does not give up.
The time is so deeply out of joint, that the joint was sold to a different person and became an economic token without an original referent. Exists as a simulacrum that just reminds us that there was once an image of a time that had its own sense and values in which one exist ed. The sound of my Filco Majestouch 2 typing is probably the main reason of continuation of hits text, and awareness that anyone reading this has some sort of dedication that I do respect. Being that nobody reads long texts, and this text is basically impossible to summarise in any sane way, gives me the power to even refer to you, the reader with a decency that only one human to give to another, no matter the circumstances. That reminds me of Tim Rogers' review of Cyberpunk 2077 which had a segment just like that, due to being an 8 hour review, which even made me question how many people heard that message, and does it even matter. Or being it a post-modern expression it is some sort of elitist impulse to at least pat ourselves on the back and understand what do we enjoy is part of our identity. An identity.
Truly verily truly verily truly verily truly verily truly verily truly verily underspoken attempt at seeing that which is not. Could be not. What is a cat if a set of memories of a cat or reminiscing about the cat that we have seen. Who can sell you a cat if there is a cat to be sold.
An act of writing itself has to be referenced isn’t it, as there is no overarching theme besides a form of suffering and anxiety that )I hope) is shared in this world. I don’t make an industrial run of a mill plan of this text. I just let my brain vomit all the times I have not writing a note in my journal, listen to a variety of music, and let off all the things that I had to remain quite on due to employability, human relations, and any other form in which dereifiyng form of speech would have been considered as a symptom and in a worse case as cringe. I know some people surely will read this in a negative way. God, I fucking hate modern reference to our forms and popular culture but that what is fucking left. DFW killed himself for a reason, and that reason being that a great writer of today can only exist like a piece of plastic embedded ion the ground as a piece of uranium that a geologist can see and question what a great catastrophe produces such a weakness, and such requirement to speak in ways which are not properly understood. Reading our era as a geological failure is an act of optimism and Hope, because if this is to last forever with its slow burn suffering will be the greatest tragedy that mankind will face, a greater than Black Plague or the Holocaust. Because those two were of meaning, and that meaning was pretty easy to point to. Meanwhile, what is the meaning of Resistance, allegiance, ignorance, pride in today’s world, what is exactly gained, what is the difference. Feel free to email me lich@AT@dataswamp.DOT.org, if I am dead, then I might not be able to reply or my reply will not be a genuine one. An AI copy is still available though.
To whome I do speak. I hope to be speaking to myself at least, as I am that that is perceiving and of whose perceiving I am not really that sure of.
As if there even could be a redemption for a historical period that borne nuclear weapons. We deserve the punishment and the use of nuclear weapon is the only way out to stop this sets of meaning fro their transformation. The coming forgetting is the liberation, and at least we can be grateful that we have forgetting of history in the pasty, and we can be one of the few that not only understand them ,but also respect them.
Let’s hope that no civilisation tries to emulate ours, as that is an attempt to emulate a failure.
I breathe, of that I am sure. This act is so constant and the fact that one can do it wrong is of huge fascination and should be more well understood. Also, the fact that anybody with conciousness (to our knowledge) is breathing (in some way) is not to be ignored.
Every day begins the same. Ends the same.
The Gods will come back and end the reign of titans, as if their reign was any show of power. Their power is temporary and already shows its weakness. I have to go sleep now.
The universe is a dying body of a God.