I began this blog intending to write something profound which , as a friend might categorize: evanesced. Into the vapor it went, like wisps escaping through our fingers.
I realized what it is I was attempting as a pulverantilist. What it is I continue to attempt as a pulverantilist artist? Not some pastiche or derivative, for in the moment the shutter falls, you KNOW, if you’ve hit the sublime or complete shit masquerading as genius.
It is such a truth we wish to conceal from our fellow brethren. That we are indeed shit. AND as a form of life in ALL it’s vicious vicissitudes, we should be mindful of the fact that we are FULL of ourselves.
FUCKING FULL of ourselves. Lapping our own dicks and pussies and tits as if we could do it for eternity.
But I suggest something else which as already been suggested countless times by all the fucking prophets before us… and fucking curse their insight to Gehenna and all damnation. The lapping of our own orifices as mentioned a priori, is just that and only that. Self lapping of pleasure centers. Loads of elation on our soul. And like life itself, selfish cumming to the next generation. Thoughtless pumping, breathing the entire edifice a violent scream against a very dark orbital plain. An expanse which escapes the up and the down, or the inside and the inside-out.
I would most certainly like to condemn ALL humanity and all it’s fucking childishness. I WOULD like to do that, but alas I am restrained, for deep in the moment of pure abnegation, I/we find an infinitely small moment where we are ONE with all that was, is and will come. The multiplicity of ME as life moving through persistent AND non-existent moments. The time traveler as I have mentioned.
For those of you who believe in the little thrusts you fuck onto the universe, your high grounds and low grounds and all the in-between-grounds… well it’s pointless and gravid with infinite meaning simultaneously.
We don’t get to decide. In a breath we are extinguished , our flame from this totality. A gravity well of angst, anger, love, repetitive fucking, kissing, hugging.
Your words, as these words you are now reading will evanesce. Vapors. Futile and fertile.
But don’t lose vile ‘HOPE‘ in her beatitude. She is a slut and drags us along. Be! She proclaims, BE!
Can you face the final indignation of evisceration when it comes? Ego override. The binary tarpit?
Who reads this? Me? You? Who exactly? In a theoretical setting of a proposed infinite audience, for if time and the universe as a life form are infinite, then statistically all long shots are possible…
or it is mere preaching to the church choir. They already believe those who already believe.
Because of you I cry. Because of you I laugh.