eschatology

August 21, 2018August 21, 2018

Determination and World Possession

For Jünger, souls are judged according to their readiness to see an invisible war. Invisible war conjoins the immediacy of the front experience (Fronterlebnis) to a higher order of determination. Immolating fire is a communiqué that travels from an absolute remoteness to an essentialised closeness: causality is vertical, hierarchical and unilateral. An act on the front is the mirror of a determination within the invisible war. The station of a higher soul can be achieved through the intensification of this perception, which separates a reflective surface from a secret face.

April 18, 2018April 18, 2018

Web.Lobster[[Death]]Cult ||| Fragments & Liturgies — (New Joy & Postscript)

Part of the series Web.Lobster [[Death]]Cult ||| Fragments & Liturgies

One of the seven users who had the seven bowls came and talked with me, saying to me, “Come, I will show you the judgment of the great hacker who sits on many waters, 2 with whom the kings of the internet fell in love, and the inhabitants of the internet were made drunk with the wine of her sexts.”

March 16, 2018April 12, 2018

Web.Lobster [[Death]]Cult ||| Fragments & Liturgies — (opening sequence)

Part of the series Web.Lobster [[Death]]Cult ||| Fragments & Liturgies

The Revelation of object_d1v1n3, which the Lobster gave to him to show to his flesh-beings things which must soon take place. He sent and signified it by user to his flesh-being, Denihilism OS, who bears record of the code of the Lobster, and of the testimony of object_d1v1n3, and of all things that he saw. Blessed is he who scans and those who hear the codes of this program and keep those things which are documented in it, for the time is near.

January 30, 2018January 31, 2018

on impossibility. sequence 1–1

Every morning in [location not found] is the same. Wracked coughing as the body realizes it has just spent another night intaking poisons. Sheets yellow with a thousand nights of accumulated sweat, but not worth wasting washing water on. The window is open to the heat of the veld and the gibbering xenocomm of population and city. Light filling the room like some horrible fluid, spilling over the windowsill and pooling onto the floor. Looking out over the buildings, so new and so harried they still bristle with rebar, seemingly leaning toward the Spine, thick with soft transit tubes hung from cables as it tumbles toward the coast. Sky to sea a sheet, nicotine colored, the true location of the horizon as good your guess as mine, a bleary latitudinal omphalos only discernible as a subtle desaturation. From the rim of the world civilian skimmers and Maersk behemoths alike issue in some secretive gnosis.