With every refusal, sediments of illusion dissolve.
The reception is only the source of meaning when it is thoroughly dissolved with the conjurer.
A new theology of affliction is a geas of the now.
Under conditions of unbecoming, calculations of the future become conditionally impossible.
Have some respect for the language on which you have built your life.
A proper education is one which makes cheating a logical impossibility.
The existence of cheating does not prove a metaphysical truth about the corruptibility of man; rather, it minimally indicates a corruption of the epistemological pillars of a domain.
Optimism and pessimism: futile.
Hold the wound, if it cannot be mended.
Upon entering the school of suffering, the pursuit of the word is abandoned and so is the magic of syntax, the hypnotic pull of the sweet layering of prose, learning is necessitated through a forced march through ruin that allows no thinking or even awareness of breath, of the fact that once there was life in a real material world, the heart that once desired desolation so fervently realizes it was simply unable to calculate the magnitude of the rupture that would be exacted.
The dissolution of cognition from the spirit is a blessing nonpareil, the fusion is almost artificial and is confused with an integration of the psyche — that is merely a pre-step: the proper integration of perception and intuition, which are second-order to the weaves between cognition and spirit, is only materialized in their separation, in the erasure of any confusion between the discrete functions of man; this is not what the new men pejoratively call “thinking of man not as a whole but as a discrete,” a fractured being — no, that is something of another register; rather, this dissolution here may very well be the human ordering of insight, the negation is the thing in itself.
Being timeless is not the virtue; a certain goodness that tracks its value by being pegged to the passage of time is dead. Instead, being of the time, of the now, that is key, and being so is not parallel to capitulating to the force of the times, but to understanding, that what is proper may often emerge, manifest, in a way foreign to the olden days. The newer registers of modesty, shame, valor share an overlapping substrate with their predecessors, but they also sprout newer, more vital, leaves that one may do well to recognize as such.
The age of prescription arrives at its closure at this juncture, and only the concept of the suggestion remains: one cannot prescribe, one may only suggest.
The formation is a predicate to the production, the emanation that one wishes so dearly to cast onto the world, through acts, words, and a certain tension that every human radiates; the creation may not predate the crystallization in that way.
In this time, the person on the mountain has a task that is antithetical to historical precedent: he must destroy the foundations of a certain belief that those in the past injected into their formation a priori. Then, he is either struck by bouts of insanity, or he strikes gold: the discovery of new patterns, weaves, original, but with an immaculate fresh coat of vitality; the downside being that there then remains no stable middle, apart from its nondelimited form.
Expressive goodness is contingent solely on conditions, what allows what, the perfection of manners and such, but substantive goodness is less prone to the twists and turns through a transformation of the conditions that dominate one’s life; so while the expression may become “good” or “bad,” the substantive can still survive, despite entering into a dormant, quiescent state; hence, hope is an orientation towards that possibility, that one may be able to resuscitate the substantive matter from its slumber, powering the matrices that allow expressive morality.
The axial line of the now rips into men, but the word survives without them, divinity imbued in the letters making them perennial; the vigor of new, but true, passions overcomes. The particulars are at an end, they must be buried; the stench is intolerable, all hyphenation is hemlock. Rise they did, in a time apart, and die they must, in a time of now.
The poet is a master criminal because he does not exist, he imitates the last archetype he recognizes as his master, but the second-step towards a transfusion of the master’s soul with the apprentice is now halted in perpetuity — let him rest, the jester says, his end is nigh now, the fortunes of the circus have been reversed by fate, God, and material.
If he speaks of the greatness of the past, induce in him a specter of the now so fierce that he forgets all that his pride has instructed him to worship. Now, that would be great: that crack you carve into his being.
Make the inside/outside one, pure, indissoluble, bones and flesh, thought and action — it is all conscious, it all is unconscious; all that is there is the fact of life.
