Thursday, July 02, 2015

And You, You Will Be Queen


And you, you will be queen

Take me, for you are mine and I am you. The becoming king and queen of the I and the you signifies attainment of divine union, the eternal rulership of lover and beloved, soul and God, which is won in mystical death. This mutual conversion to king and queen, at once resurrection and marriage, is the fruition of the fatal intersection of I and you exposed in the great experimental cross or X of experience (experientia crucis), whereby the polarity of self and other is inexorably killed to life.[1] “Resurrection is only crucifixion having reached the stage of fructification. It is realised crucifixion.”[2] Now the sovereignty of the divine I—“I am who I am” (Exodus 3:14)—passes to the (never-created) creature, to the you who in reality is no different from the divinity it address as You. Resurrecting into the kingdom of the real I, you is filled, from the depths of her own insurmountable separation, with the highest royal power: “O you dead, come into the light and into the life! . . . come to our abundance and contemplate the bride, who by love has experienced all needs, heavenly and earthly! She is so experienced with need in the alien land that I shall now show her how she has grown in the land of darkness (Job 10:33). And she shall be great, and she shall see her repose, and the voice of power shall be wholly hers. . . . Your blessed soul is the bride in the city.”[3] Married at last to the fact of its own eternal death, the I now realizes, for the first always-forever time, the divine power to say I: “The main thing is, I understand that I was ‘dead.’ That is something none of the dead wants to understand; the idea ‘I have expired’ is lethal to one who has thus far been rooted in this ‘life’ of yours. At first I was taken aback by this idea as well; but a moment later I was laughing at my idiotic mistake; for the whole of your waking is but a terrible error, born of Omni-idiocy. One must be God; everything else having to do with humanity is dung.”[4] Now—TODAY—both the mutuality and the hierarchy of the divinely royal relation enjoy each other in a mystical interplay of I and You, the sovereign game manifesting the unlimited individuality of divinity: “When the soul comes out of the ego-shell and enters into the infinite life of God, its limited individuality is replaced by unlimited individuality. The soul knows that it is God-conscious and thus preserves its individuality. The important point is that individuality is not entirely extinguished, but it is retained in the spiritualised form.”[5] Such a one is no less king than queen, no less queen than king. “That which is Shyama is also Brahman. That which has form, again, is without form. That which has attributes, again, has no attributes. Brahman is Shakti; Shakti is Brahman. They are not two. These are only two aspects, male and female, of the same Reality, Existence-Knowledge-Bliss Absolute.”[6] Becoming king and queen via death on the cross of individuation, I and you—each divinely at once king and queen—enter the paradise of a perfectly unimaginable and unimaginably perfect relation of will in which the one and the many are consummated in infinite secret union: “the King has not one bedroom only, but several. For he has more than one queen: his concubines are many, his maids beyond counting. And each has her own secret rendezvous with the Bridegroom and says: ‘My secret to myself, my secret to myself.’”[7] This union is not some fancy metaphysical dream come true, but simply the immediate unveiling and unending fulfillment of an infinitely obvious but strangely unacceptable fact: the eternity of one’s own being, the absoluteness of one’s own will: “If I were not, God would not be either. I am the cause of God's being God: if I were not, then God would not be God. But you do not need to know this.”[8] Indeed you will never know this until you wake up from wanting things for yourself and see who is standing right in front of you: “As long as desires persist, there is no freedom. One who is completely desireless becomes the King of Kings! But people have no idea how to become desireless. Freedom from desires is real life. One has to go beyond desires to enjoy freedom. This freedom can never be imagined; it is beyond the mind. The mind creates desires and as long as the mind continues and does not die, a person cannot extricate himself and enjoy freedom. The soul is like a bird. When all desires vanish, the bird’s eyes open. It sees God and becomes one with Him. I am that God whom the bird sees when its eyes open. But desires blind the bird and it cannot see me, though I am standing right in front of it.”[9] Thus the repetition of the I and the you—“I, I . . . And you, you”—to remind us that the I who sings is and is not the same as the one who will be king and that the you who is sung to is and is not the same as the one who will be queen. The song begins in confidence of its prophecy, precisely because it knows that today is and is not its fulfillment, that the day of union is found in another day of dying, in the heroic leap that must begin now: “long and be restless for one big thing. Long and want the one thing that will kill all the millions of other wants. Long for union. How clear and simple. Try with all your heart. Do not say yes and then not do it. Begin seriously now.”[10] Such is the purer evil of the good—more evil than evil—by which the self kills itself: “Selfishness, which in the beginning is the father of evil tendencies, becomes through good deeds the hero of its own defeat. . . . Goodness is the means by which the soul annihilates its own ignorance.”[11] And this black metal knows, that the good is the real evil.


Cult of Fire, मृत्यु का तापसी अनुध्यान [Ascetic Meditation of Death] (Iron Bonehead Productions, 2013)

Who is this terrible Woman, dark as the sky at midnight?
Who is this Woman dancing over the field of battle.
Like a blue lotus that floats on a crimson sea of blood?
Who is She, clad alone in the Infinite for a garment,
Rolling Her three great eyes in frenzy and savage fury?
Under the weight of Her tread the earth itself is trembling!
Siva, Her mighty Husband, who wields the fearful trident,
Lies like a lifeless corpse beneath Her conquering feet.[12]





[1] On the I-you chiasmus as the means of mystical death, see Alina Popa and Nicola Masciandaro, “Our Cruel Tormentors…Split Into One,” in “Dark Wounds of Light,” Vestiges-00: Ex-Stasis (Black Sun Lit, 2015), 173-181.
[2] Anonymous, Meditations on the Tarot: A Journey into Christian Hermeticism, trans. Robert Powell (New York: Penguin Putnam, 1985), 390.
[3] Hadewijch, The Complete Works, trans. Mother Columba Heart, O.S.B. (New York: Paulist, 1980), 287.
[4] Ladislav Klima, The Sufferings of Prince Sternenhoch (Prague: Twisted Spoon Press, 2008), 140.
[5] Meher Baba, Discourses, 2:174.
[6] Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, trans. Swami Nikhilananda (New York: Ramakrishna-Vivekananda Center), 1952), 271.
[7] Bernard of Clairvaux, On the Song of Songs, trans. Kilian Walsh, 4 vols. (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1983), 2:34.
[8] Meister Eckhart, Complete Mystical Works, trans. and ed. Maurice O’C. Walshe (New York: Herder & Herder, 2009),
[9] Meher Baba, quoted in Lord Meher, 1060.
[10] Meher Baba, quoted in Lord Meher, 1818.
[11] Meher Baba, Discourses, I:31, my italics.
[12] Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, 240.

Sunday, June 21, 2015

On "Heroes/Helden" [excerpt]


[this is an excerpt from a collaborative commentary in progress for the Mors Mystica volume]

On “Heroes/Helden”

To be a hero—in the most universal sense of the word—means to aspire to absolute triumph. But such triumphs come only through death. Heroism means transcending life; it is a fatal leap into nothingness. – Emil M. Cioran, On the Heights of Despair
Freedom? it’s my final refuge, I forced myself to freedom and I bear it not like a talent but with heroism: I’m heroically free . . . I don’t impart confidences. Instead I metallize myself . . . I construct something free of me and of you—this is my freedom that leads to death. – Clarice Lispector, Agua Viva
[I]n the seething blaze, you turned to ash. . . . Like a forest fire the flame roared on, and burned your flesh away. Next day at dawn . . . we picked your pale bones from the char to keep in wine and oil. A golden amphora your mother gave for this—Hephaistos’ work, a gift from Dionysos. In that vase . . . hero, lie your pale bones . . . We . . . heaped a tomb for these upon a foreland . . . to be a mark against the sky for voyagers in this generation and those to come. – Homer, The Odyssey
Realization is for heroes who, while the knife is slashing their throats, take pleasure in the pain of dying. – Meher Baba
They who thus conquer / In the storm of love / Are veritable heroes; / But they who take any rest / And do not continue to the end / Are rightly condemned. – Hadewijch
The idea of this commentary is to consider “Heroes/Helden,” a cover of the famous Bowie song by Tombs,[1] in light of the fires of mystical death. In the weeks before the Mors Mystica symposium, the music video by the Brooklyn-based black metal band spontaneously suggested itself as an index of the event. Whatever the secret or obvious links between black metal and Bowie—“I was influenced by Bowie” (Necrobutcher of Mayhem)[2]—this seems like an unlikely musical gloss on a black metal theory symposium dedicated to self-annihilation. On further reflection, the setting of the video by Tombs in New York City, the promise of a metallic blackening of the pop romanticism of the original (“Bowie simply glosses over the boundless idealism his song called ‘Heroes’ [sic] by being ironic about it right from the start”),[3] and above all the profound spiritual connection between heroism and mystical death, their unending cotermination in dying to oneself through love—"Being is dying by loving" (MB)—show “Heroes/Helden” to be a perfect song for this commentary . . . . If the “heroes” of the song are only heroes “for one day,” all the more so does “Heroes/Helden” point the way to the sword-path upon which true heroes “die daily” (1 Cor. 15:31).[4]
             
“Heroes/Helden


As seen in the closing credits of the music video, Tombs dispense with the quotation marks which conspicuously enclose the title of Bowie’s original in an “ironic distance”—a distance nonetheless always already closed by the sonic immanence of the love of music / music of love wherein the twin correlational hallucination of the for-us and the in-itself is inversely overcome: “There is no outside! But we forget this with all sounds; how lovely it is that we forget!”[5] Counter to the critical reception of Bowie’s self-citing title as a camp gesture whose sophistication the naïve listener or believer in heroism must be instructed in,[6] Tombs erect an unadorned heroic monument / monument to heroism under cover of the cover itself, over the aegis of the undying artist-hero whose epigraphically present name now both signs the work’s authentic saying and serves as the ur-quote mark presiding over its freedom from “the vicious circle of authority and citation.”[7] This is Tombs’ “Heroes/Helden,” not “‘Heroes/Helden’” by David Bowie. The cover’s interment of the song as writing—not “by” but “written by”—puts to rest its unsung, musically invisible quotation marks. Activating the principle of the cover as citation in toto, Tombs encrypt “‘Heroes’” in a tomb of total citation that resurrects the song from semantic suspension, paradoxically restoring it to itself in a new version which always-never existed, a lyrical hybrid of “‘Heroes’” and “‘Heroes/Helden’.” Such is the order of black metal: “black metal perpetuates itself via a satanic logic that corrodes and occludes its own resources while allowing them to remain apparent. You could say that black metal practices what Benjamin called ‘the art of citing without quotation marks.’ Rebelling against the logic or order whereby the citation produces authority, black metal weaponizes citation against its own authorizing aura. For black metal, repetition IS the original.”[8] And such is the real point, the whole point, of Bowie’s original marks, which is not to be ironic about heroism but to get it by knowing that the joke is on you if you do not presently die to yourself and become who you really are, i.e. be a hero—whatever the artist and critics say about the song, or what anyone says about anything for that matter. As Sir Gawain must remind Yvain, lest he become “one of those men . . . who are worth less because of their wives,” “Now is not the time to dream your life away but to frequent tournaments, engage in combat, and joust vigorously, whatever it might cost you.”[9] We must thus recognize the heroic impulse of black metal as a classical, time-entombing force that, against the nauseating predilection of historically-framed consciousness for cowardly (i.e. passive-aggressive) self-contextualization, affirms at once the novelty of the ancient and the antiquity of the new via a medievalization of authorship: “for the Middle Ages there is not, in fact, any possibility of citing a text in the modern sense of the word, because the work of the auctor also comprehends its own citation, such that it is possible to say, despite the apparent paradox, that the medieval texts are contained as citations within the antiqui auctores (ancient authors), which explains, among other things, the medieval predilection for the gloss as a literary form.”[10] “Heroes/Helden” is a monument to the now-living form of immemorial memory that seizes the atemporal day and unearths the universality of the local. As Tombs sing in “Séance,” “The world of memory / Exists outside of time / Serpent’s eyes / Timeless thoughts / Complete the chain / Immortality / I hear the call / From beyond this realm / Exist outside of time.”[11] Someone will probably object that the question of the title’s quotation marks is a small matter, not worthy of such interpretation—thereby proving their ignorance of the fact that real greatness works in liberty from the distinction between small and great works: “If the aspirant is completely detached from all works and their results he becomes free from the vitiating opposites of the great and small things. The worldly-minded feel their separative existence through achievements. . . . They grasp at great things and avoid the little things. From the spiritual point of view, the so-called little things are often seen to be as important as the so-called great things. The aspirant has no motive to eschew the one and seek the other; therefore he attends to little things with as much zest as to great things.”[12] And as Marguerite Porete, heretic of the Free Spirit, points out, the spirit of commentary—blowing where it will, swarming through monuments and summiting its mountains of mole-hills—is secretly inseparable from the will to self-annihilation: “Gloss this if you wish, or if you can. If you cannot, you are not of this kind; but if you are of this kind, it will be opened to you. You would already be profoundly annihilated if you had the means by which you could hear it, for otherwise I would not say it.”[13] NM




[1] Tombs, “‘Heroes’ (Official Music Video),” https://vimeo.com/108837545.
[2] Dayal Patterson, Black Metal: Evolution of the Cult (Port Townsend, WA: Feral House, 2013), 150.
[3] Tobias Rüther, Heroes: David Bowie and Berlin (London: Reaktion Books, 2014), 135.
[4] “This Path is strewn only with hardships, and only heroes can tread it. Many pundits are there to give lectures and speak about philosophy, but only a hero can tread the Path. It is like balancing oneself on the edge of a sword. What am I to do? I have to keep you alive while jabbing my knife in your chest, which causes you to cry out. What can we do? This is our situation” (Meher Baba, quoted in Lord Meher, 1027, http://http://www.lordmeher.org). Cf. “Life with Meher Baba was like walking on the edge of a sword—walking on it even though crippled in one leg! Such a life cannot be imagined. Daily, one had to bear lightning-like blows; yet, strangely, one would be in such a condition that, although paining from the wounds, one would not like to be left ‘unharmed’ without them! On the one hand, the mind would reel under the attack, but on the other, the heart would desire more punishment! Thus, because of the continuous shower of ‘blows to the ego,’ the mind was becoming powerless and the heart strong” (Lord Meher, 3669). On the traditional significance of the sword bridge, famously traversed by Sir Lancelot, Doña Luisa Coomaraswamy writes, “It is because the Thread of the Spirit is at once so tenuous and of such wiry strength that the Bridge is so often described in the traditional literature either as a ray of light, or as consisting of a thread or a hair, or as sharper than a razor or the edge of a sword” (“The Perilous Bridge of Welfare,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 8 [1944]: 196–213). It is significant that the protagonists in “‘Heroes’” perform the inverse, standing by a wall, something that separates, as opposed to crossing a bridge, something that joins two sides.    
[5] Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, trans. by Adrian Del Caro (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 175.
[6] “Bowie was slap-bang in the middle of what Susan Sontag defined as the sensibility of camp . . . ‘Camp sees everything in quotation marks. It is not a lamp but a “lamp”.’ Or, in Bowie’s case it is ‘Heroes’, not Heroes, implying an ironic distancing lost in its live power-pop renditions” (David Buckley, “Still Pop’s Faker?,” in The Bowie Companion, ed. by Elizabeth Thompson and David Gutman [London: Macmillan, 1993], 4-5). “For all of its latter-day recognition . . . ‘“Heroes”’ is still widely mistaken to be an anthem to fist-pumping optimism, when in fact Bowie is singing about the self-delusion of clinging to a relationship that might last, at best, ‘just for one [more] day.’ The title, moreover, is framed in what Bowie would later refer to as ironic quotation marks – suggesting that the ‘only true heroic act’ available, as he told Melody Maker’s Allan Jones shortly after the song’s release, was to enjoy ‘the very simple pleasure of being alive’” (Thomas Jerome Seabrook, Bowie in Berlin: A New Career in a New Town [London: Jawbone, 2008], 179).
[7] Giorgo Agamben, Stanzas: Word and Phantasm in Western Culture, trans. Ronald L. Martiez (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), 74.
[8] Nicola Masciandaro, “Black Metal Theory: Interrogation I: Nicola Masciandaro,” Avant-garde Metal (2012), http://avantgarde-metal.com/content/stories2.php?id=245.
[9] Chretien de Troyes, Arthurian Romances (New York: Penguin, 1991), 326. The listener-viewer will readily perceive how the issue of spiritual manliness is at stake in a Bowie cover by a Brooklyn black metal band whose multi-colored music video features Ralph Schmidt (of Planks) channeling the German vocals from a Williamsburg rooftop—
—and how the issue comes down to the meaning of the mustache: “A mustache is a sign of manliness—to endure all the strains in adverse circumstances, both material and spiritual, and against the powerful forces of maya. It is a sign to stand up against anger, lust, and greed, and not to be so delicate, sensitive, and feeble-minded like a [fickle] woman. A man must be the personification of manliness, always ready to offer his head when the time comes. Men with such qualifications are required in this Path. They are real heroes who endure all hardships and suffering to reach the Goal. All other men are cowards in spite of flaunting mustaches, however big. In short, be true to your mustache; that is, be a man. Don’t frown and fret and try to run away like cowards from the battlefield of the Path without winning. Heroes do or die!” (Meher Baba, quoted in Lord Meher, 1129).
[10] Agamben, Stanzas, 74.
[11] Tombs, “Séance,” Savage Gold (Relapse Records, 2014).
[12] Meher Baba, Discourses, 6th ed., 3 vols. (San Francisco: Sufism Reoriented, 1967), 3:125.
[13] Marguerite Porete, The Mirror of Simple Souls, trans. Ellen L. Babinsky (New York: Paulist Press, 1993), 183.





Friday, May 29, 2015

Diaphany



C o n t e n t s

Rendering Darkness and Light Present: Jean Gebser and the Principle of Diaphaneity
—Aaron Cheak
Beauty, Desire, and the Soul of the World
—David Fideler
Exploring the Fractal Nature of Ibn ‘Arabī’s Cosmology
—Moselle N Singh
Arcane Cartographies: An Interview with Timothy Ely
—Sabrina Dalla Valle and Timothy Ely
The Alchemical Chiasmos: Counter-Stretched Harmony and Divine Self-Perception
—Aaron Cheak & Sabrina Dalla Valle
The ‘Place of Nothing’ in Nishida as Chiasma and Chōra
—John W M Krummel
Never Paint what Cannot be Painted: Master Dōgen and the Zen of the Brush
—Jason M Wirth
The Philosophy of the Flowers: In Search for the Genealogy of Yûgen—A Cosmic Sublime
—Elisabet Yanagisawa
Never Born, Never Die: Individuation, Mutation & Mystical Birth via Gebser’s Ever-Present Origin
—Nicola Masciandaro

'Dark Wounds of Light' in VESTIGES_00: Ex-Stasis


Displaying FullSizeRender.jpg

VESTIGES_00: Ex-Stasis
beauty as an experience of the limit

Featuring: Daniele Bellomi, Louise Black, Gabriel Blackwell, James Brubaker, Mauro Javier Cardenas, Ryan Chang, Erin Fleming, Tristan Foster, Michaela Freeman, Róbert Gál, Evelyn Hampton, Anton Ivanov, M Kitchell, Sam Kriss, Emily Laskin, Robert Lunday, Stéphane Mallarmé, Nicola Masciandaro, Elizabeth Mikesch, Rebecca Norton, Yarrow Paisley, Andrei Platonov, Alina Popa, Tom Regel, Forrest Roth, Jacob Siefring, George Szirtes, Colin James Torre, Chaulky White

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Theoria e praxis del Black Metal


Interview with Fabio Selvafiorita at L'Intellettuale Dissidente.




No Sleep Til Death: 24-5 April in NYC


No Sleep Til Death is a spontaneous trinity of black vernal events in NYC, 
Yet another opportunity for what will never survive to wake up, a
Chance to come to the end of yourself in the cruellest month.  









Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Spheresy 1693 [excerpt the second]


[co-authored with Alina Popa, forthcoming from Schism Press]

1593.            To suspect that 99% of your thoughts are merely self-serving sentimentality.
1594.            Apply all your criticisms to yourself before washing your face.
1595.            Despair at the thought.
1596.            Mournfully console yourself over the joy of having been born.
1597.            Delight in the immaculate conscious misery of missing . . .
1598.            Wake up like a particle of dust in darkspace, walk floating in a tomb.
1599.            Carry your body with you as a disidentification card.
1600.            Be the best at what you do not do.
1601.            Stop pretending not to scream when you see other people.
1602.            Know that you are eternal perfection, infinitesimally discombobulated.
1603.            Drown in floating.
1604.            Defy everything.
1605.            Be at a total loss.
1606.            Once the party is over, throw yourself in the trash.
1607.            Die from surviving too much intensity.
1608.            Tear the sky open with your eyelashes.
1609.            Live the terrifying life that love wants.
1610.            Become such a beautiful monster that your desires run in fear.
1611.            Focus on differences everyone else ignores.
1612.            Study the abyss-tectonics.
1613.            Always doubt the side of the horizon you are on.
1614.            Do more than nothing but less than something.
1615.            Search too far for what is already found.
1616.            Shout the redundance-echo of this world’s inexistence.
1617.            Find out how easy it is for nothing to risk everything.
1618.            Fail to go somewhere because you are already there.
1619.            Wake up by reading what you did not write in a dream.
1620.            Kill yourself with the arrow of exteriority by looking into the mirror.
1621.            Climb ever higher into a strange altitude sickness that is its own cure.
1622.            Reflect yourself away (from you).
1623.            Leap into the imminent spiral fact of IT.
1624.            Read minds like so many cheat sheets.
1625.            Be someone else’s vertigo.
1626.            Hear what people really say, the way a liar says I am lying.
1627.            Roll on the floor with your iso-self.
1628.            Die from the blow before it hits you.
1629.            Cheat by being honest.
1630.            Become hyperflat, capable of draping infinite dimensions.
1631.            Achieve total strength by compensating for a weakness in one area with weakness in all others.
1632.            Jettison every attempt to re-stabilize the self.
1633.            To look up at the sky and think, f*** this!
1634.            Exhaust thyself in derangements of excess desire that improve all problems by exacerbating them.
1635.            Grow sane in the freedom to go mad.
1636.            To become trapped in a reflection to which no harm may come.
1637.            Speak forgetting to not know how to use language.
1638.            Despair for the last time, again.
1639.            Lose as many ‘friends’ as possible by choosing trueness.
1640.            Dwell in a spiral mansion between an impossible polyhedron and the infinite sphere.
1641.            To not fear being far closer than the jugular vein.
1642.            Trip over yourself.
1643.            Study the science of arriving where you already are without not moving.
1644.            Leap from shock to shock to shock by letting each one wake you up.
1645.            Stand forever above this world in unfading childhood and ancient love.
1646.            Carry yourself around in an apparent unreality more real than any world.
1647.            (Im)patiently wait to not recover from irreversible self-healing stabbing.
1648.            Wish for nothing more . . . even nothing at all.
1649.            Run slower than others and faster than yourself.
1650.            To be born spirally every day into full body rokurokubi soulstorm.
1651.            Stay ahead losing the measure of head, playing the acephalic game outside the measure of speed.
1652.            Work at the inhuman pace of a climatological heart whose pair-shadows look blindly at each other through the mad lens of an infinitely clear ocean.
1653.            Trip up dancing like intertwined puppet masters and master puppets intelligently entangled in sigh-threads across the sword bridge to paradise.
1654.            Never starve to death by self-eating live pronoun salad.
1655.            Approach every mirror with proper reverence, as if it were a species of holy sword.  
1656.            To never not cut with the sharpness of an extra dimension.
1657.            Neither speak nor cite, just weave writing around itself in the air.
1658.            To see all things in navel-perspective, from the center into which everything vanishes.
1659.            Wear your body like a mask at a costume ball for pupils.
1660.            Drift and doze on a far away cloud too close to see.
1661.            Swim through food that eats you, plunge into autophagic osmosis.
1662.            Dive furthest into seas of sweet diffusion.
1663.            Bait yourself before the shark of one’s joy.
1664.            Fall ever upward into vertigo of the recursive kiss.
1665.            Fail miserably to properly prepare for the final embarrassment.
1666.            Feed both eater and eaten to the all-devouring meal.
1667.            To feel like Pinhead from Hellraiser.
1668.            To find paradise in a prison sentence, the spiral spheres in a walled garden. 
1669.            Spice up your life by feeding on being eaten.
1670.            Prove the impossible to be inevitable.
1671.            Follow the imperative of the imperative of the imperative . . . all the way down.
1672.            To be abducted by strange rhythms, kidnapped by chora. 
1673.            To be insulated from the prison of self-world correlation by a subtle golden space, an impenetrable amniotic time.
1674.            Hyperventilate at the mere thought of it, trillions of fathoms deep, expiring desiring nothing.
1675.            To stay home with distance as utter saturation of union, an astronomical magnitude of ethereal intimacy.
1676.            Open your mouth and say nothing of what you know because it is too much.
1677.            Scream me so loudly that all my I-drops disappear, hiding in the deepest ocean where you have already lost yourself.
1678.            Tell devoured crumb of me, more myself than I, to carry the seed of you in all directions of the omnipresent scream.
1679.            Create a new pronoun and a new preposition, place them in a new world, then bless them and say, ‘be fruitful and multiply.’
1680.            Swoon invisibly within thyself, black out inside out.
1681.            Let no day pass without impossible unveiling of new non-worlds.
1682.            Die to never stop dying.
1683.            Launch all rockets into universal eclipse.
1684.            Head-spin in hyper-spheres of al di , heart-swim in spiral bliss of nothing-distance.
1685.            To tighten intolerably the torturous intensity of ever-collapsing space-time, each meter exploding into HERE, each tick-tock amplifying NOW.
1686.            Like how reality never stops being too much.
1687.            Drag your unbearable lightness into another day with open arms.
1688.            To feel that anything you do is nothing compared to nothing.
1689.            Meet yourself on the ocean floor.
1690.            To watch reality staging itself.
1691.            Place yourself where the shovel thrusts when reality digs its own tomb.
1692.            Enter the room on which it is written ‘- 1’.
1693.            Rejoice in silent convulsions, always eros-minus-one, subtracting self from self to find the same excess of unbearable 0.

Glossator 9: Pearl