Today We Become the Enemy.Our eternal fate.
we speak of what we have done,
what we are doing
and what will be done.
Our nature is ideology.
Do we feel that things fade from memory
or fade to memory?
Along the lines we draw
of culture, ethnicity, and language we find a persona(e).
Where is the soul located--if it is not local,
not at a locii. We speak our Fate
to no one but ourselves.
The rupture, an a-historical void of meaning
positions us in a place of
reconstructions and rediscovery.
This is the most uncomfortable time
that euphemism = unspeakable things.
Now, it is not so much a crisis
or a lack of meaning, as it is a surplus of meaning. The "occult" tendency is to actually, syndromatically, connect everything in Natura and the Socius (psyche, polis, et al.) to the edge of everything else. This way there are no remnants and even the rejected and the untouchable are contained within. Even if there are parallel universes--as within the quantum model--it all touches. The space between must graze the membranes of that which separates.
In the past the question was whether the inner monologue was a demon or an angel. Now, with hybridity, it is impossible to say for sure. Without a centre, without an author there are only constellations, and only readers. Therefore, it is possible to say that these archetypes are not ossified and immobile, but held suspended in a pupal state. Accretions of shrines, reliquaries, churches, slum houses, squats, and ruins. Finding pieces and connections in the subjective terrains of objects. Finding the gems through oversaturation and excess.
Since no one runs things it is unfair perhaps to make whole nations responsible for their fanatics and zealots. Leaders generate from within groups and are a product and extension of the group. Fascism occurs in cadres. Our desperation is in trying to become one with the image centre of the universe. We do not realise that we are trying to get to the heart of ourselves.
When we speak of [G]od(s) and divinity as being or absence we are asking if we matter in what we imagine to be a greater schematic, a larger design. We beg to be woven into the masterpiece and shudder in anguish and uncertainty as part of us imagines that such rote destinies do not exist. We move uneasily between linear and cyclical models of time. Most prefer the comfort of the parental autocracy.
We forget that if a source is acknowledged a budding; a flow; a sequence must be generating. This allows terminance, but disruptions do not indicate finality. The sentence ends but the thought goes on.
