META-NOMAD

Death Happens

This is an essay which has basically been a long time coming, not that I ever actually planned to write it, only, it has always been in the background and a recent experience solidified it as perhaps one of the most important ideas which structures my thought.

I don’t think about death and suffering all the time and it’s certainly not infiltrating my thought all that regularly, at least as far as I’m aware. But recently I had the – supposedly – unfortunate experience of seeing a loved one in those true last moments, the last few hours where the human body has quite literally nothing to do but clutch at an attempt of existence, and once a person hits this point, the reality of that ‘person’, their ego, their I, anything that can be considered to be of their character completely fades away and you’re left with mere flesh.

For the majority of people and for modernity in general this is, a priori,  a bad moment, there is quite simply no framing wherein this can ever be considered a possible/potential good etc. However, that’s not really what people mean when they think like this, is it? When people say things like ‘Oh it was awful’ what they’re really addressing is their own begrudging acknowledgement of a state which is perpetually hidden by them and for them. That is to say, death and suffering are always hidden, reconfigured and reworked in such a way that they are seen not as definite parts of life, but mistakes of civilization. Ok, so far this is a slight repetition of my previous essay on immortality, however, that essay dealt with what modernity does with death with respect to your will, the rest of this essay will be on what you can do with death and suffering in the face of modernity’s cold hard calculating machinic unconscious.

It pains my younger-self to say this, but I’m certainly heading towards a more vitalist philosophy (reading the work of Ludwig Klages acted as the catalyst), and yet, I don’t think that vitalism has to be of any cliché form, or of any stereotypical hippie-love-of-live vector, in fact, I’d argue that one can be a ‘machinic-vitalist’ or a ‘cosmic-vitalist’. That is – and forgive me is there’s already theorizations closer to this idea – a vitalism which is accepting of death and suffering as part of its own vivid ecstasy. Georges Bataille gets close with his philosophy of limit experience, Nick Land strays towards machines and neglects our reality, Deleuze & Guattari are too focused on economics, Cioran and Ligotti get caught up in their own bleaker-than-thou bias; we need a reversion of vitalism in which it eats itself. That is, death and suffering become a force for good.

Hold up, I’m not promoting death and suffering for their own sake, I’m not saying that one should get pleasure, comfort or positivity from the pain of another, I’m not endorsing any form of violence or torture here. What I am doing however is becoming accepting of the cosmos in a way which doesn’t succumb to the pitfalls of Lovecraftian-bellowing from the madhouse, nor become so utterly positive it stinks of ignorance; I am theorizing of a vitalism which accepts its own return to Zero. Death and suffering as part of the whole system. Sure, this is absolutely nothing new…but then, there’s nothing new under the sun, right?

This is an immanentization of death and suffering into modernity. Modernity is here to stay, and utilizing one’s finite energy trying to get rid of it or destroy is a serious waste of life, you’ll understand very little if you spend your entire life destroying X so you can arrive at some abstract Y; the grass is always greener etc. Death happens. Death happens and spending your energy trying to stop both its material and mental reality is not only an exhaustion, but it’s a maddening exhaustion which will lead you nowhere. The underlying idea of modernity is that everything can be fixed either by some form of technological innovation or by some form of societal tolerance, and guess what, death is the thing which can never be stopped. Modernity finds in death an idea so abhorrent that it ignores its existence all-together, and what is it that modernity finds? Modernity finds within death something which truly does what modernity wants to do, control everything. The only thing outside the constraint of death is nothingness, and once death has come, the concept of nothingness can no longer be.

What can we learn from death? When one is ill, or when one is hurt, or when one is falling apart, these experiences teach us just how much we’ve become accustomed to a certain way of thinking and being. One’s first thought when they have a fever, or when a new ailment alters their course of life is to attempt, with all their might, a return to a presupposed state or normalcy. This is how I should feel and how my body should be and any alteration from that is a mistake of cosmic programming, well guess what? Heraclitus’ river isn’t just something you step into every second of every day, but it’s also the current and circuitry of your own blood. You can’t avoid change because you’re of change.

When I looked at my loved one, I saw the loved one had gone, I didn’t know where, but it didn’t feel awful. What was awful was seeing some-thing plugged into the life-support machine that is modernity, existence for its own sake; modernity disallows existence its right to pass into the next stage both willingly and in a contently manner, modernity clings to life as if it always belonged solely to modernity itself. I saw blood, gasping, unconsciousness, entropy, croaking, struggling and mortality all within a single moment, and yet I saw nothing of the vitalism which had once possessed them, for such a vitalism would have nothing to do with such modernistic and civilizational ignorance of cosmic reality.

And yet, what can one think when they find themselves within such an event in time? Modern man would bleat, pray, whine, ignore, repress, suppress, suffocate and reason everything in front of him, he would make a leap of faith towards the idea that modernity would eventually save him from such a fate, even if his might be more pleasant. But what if one sits and looks and senses. What if one takes their time, accepts the reality, acknowledges this as part of the cycle, as part of the river, and goes about their day with that in mind? I’m not saying do not feel or mourn, I’m not saying ignore the event that is death; I am saying that the way in which one understands and reacts to death will ultimately affect how they react and enact their life; if death is denied, then life is too.

‘Everything you’re currently experiencing will die’ is another way of saying that ‘everything you’re currently experiencing is still here’, enjoy it, partake in it, and experience it with everything you’ve got.


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2017 Onwards: The Unwanted Burroughs Novel.

What in the, what in the hell hell is this? This, this gone to fuck cut up shit-time we’ve arrived in? Own up! Which fucking deity took an Stanley knife and sliced temporal existence wide open, we have shit flying all over the track and no one is even irked by it. There’s little surprise left in these black pages, not due to its non-existence, no, for surprise dies when the populous becomes complacent. Blackpills are forced into pre-schoolers sippy cups, junk food intravenously injected into OAP’s corneas, fat-rats, bored-zygote, cigar munch, artistic death drive, oedipal consumerism and more, always more…and the word on the street is, dogs are going bad.

Maybe that’s how wars will be stopped? White folk only care about ‘doggos’ you know? The 3 a priori means for intuition for a white person are space, time and dogs. Anyways, where was I? Oh yea, me and Kev were sayin’ about how he’ll have to work until he’s dead, literally, in fact just last week I helped him shovel his grandmother into a woodchipper, she’s now fertilizer in his guestroom; ‘Warm ol’ Bitch Room’ we call it. Warm ol’ bitch had a cold heart, fed her dog ‘Charlie’ cat food for a laugh, I guess he was better fed than 2 thirds of the world, ol’ Charlie had the last laugh eatin’ tinned lamb and shittin’ where he wanted.

Over heard these two boring cunts talking the other day, one said to the other “How about this weather we’re having?” and the other replied “Oh boy, tell me about it.” 38 of us rode up, pulled out 36 magnums and 2 brownings, blasted their skin through the stratosphere. Anyways, if you were alive past the year 1970 and have been bored, it’s not because of means of activity, it’s because you’re a boring person; go eat some junk food and drink some beer for all I care. Just don’t bother me with your pansy pants tittle tattle crap talk.

But seriously? Where in the hell was I 30 minutes ago? I can’t for the fuck of me remember, probably because it doesn’t matter: Dear God, everything is catered for me now and this has made me, and everyone I know pretty much worthless in any practical sense, the only people I know who actually have a skill so speak, are those who use that skill as a means towards money, interest is dead and technology helped it to the grave. How is it up there in Heaven? I imagine all it is is a place wherein meaning exists, you get there and your purpose is given to you, however shit, however menial…you have a reason to exist, finally. By the way, what the fuck was going on in 2017 my man? You threw the boat out on that one, was it high as fuck turd-talk at the craps table with the apostles or what? Ah it doesn’t matter, it’ll pass…though it doesn’t seem to be, it’s like time is getting smeared forward, innovation-death.

Re-possess leg flesh. Then feed the solution to a rural English family.

There’s fruit on the table and the fruit are made of cigarettes and all kinds of bitter sticks, I gave some to the kids on Halloween, lil’ fuckers. Where-de-where was I? Right oh right, that’s right, there was this lovely kinda linear thang going on and loads of people fuckin’ hated it, but in actuality it was kind of alright, but around 2012 it just down right collapsed in front of us, the big idea couldn’t keep up with all our bullshit and just damn ducked out and exploded, and now we’re left with this absurdist stain of life, all dog-endy and ragged, just drooling all the over the place, spraying shit up the drapes, scrapin’ the tables, ruining everything good and pure. I mean really, this time is just this dead-eyed mongoloid with super strength fuckin’ us for kicks.

Taxed to high hell, malnourished from birth, pacified, anaesthetized, “Dead-eyed dicks! All o’ yas!” I can’t even bear to walk in the street nowadays, to see the idyllic die before my very eyes, these overweight sneering gut creatures exhaustingly spewing their dullard tones across the micro. What weapons do we even have now? Burroughs would bring the gun, the sword, the fuck off great knife with no fear or thought of offence, the man…the man would walk in the street weapon clad, extrapolating the knowledge that humans are and society is – at least in the West – dangerous, and people aren’t nice, at least not without reason.

Hell, at least Dr. Benway had a plan.

The plan, for me, once I either get a career or some cash is to become a doomer, a prepper whatever the name is these days, something’s coming and whether or not it’s traditional death, it’s definitely not nice, like a big black and white photograph of a corpse-pile splashing over existence, holy shit your bunker better be temporal-death tight. When those slick backed Joes come walkin’ up blahin their blahs you’d best gun ‘em down, we’ve tried talking and devising, now’s time to throw Leviathan to the pedestal and grip your hands to a weapon or tool, tight, build your future from bricks n sheet metal lads, for your cheap arse apartment with all those cool pillows your mama got you for non-existent Christmas wont help you now, cheap tactic little shits with your glitter claymores aimed up your own arses.

Try as hard as you like the master’s voice wont die, unless of course it transfers to your own box, which if it does be weary of which whip you buy, for you’ll need a bigger one within minutes.

Hey death-boy, where you going and where’s you dad? – I’ll be in taking over Death’s work for a while, he’s taking a vacation in the West, really going to town on it, kinda a big project for him…something more than just death, you know?