No, rather - I propose: belief is the quark of fact acceptance - an epistemology on the brink of madness!

this is genious but i dunno if anyone will get it

And just as an addict of nicotine may successfully put down his last cigarette only to resume a latent gambling addiction he has been brewing on feeble flames for a decade may state that he is no longer a nicotinist, an atheist may successfully negate the phenomena of religion in his own conscious realm, only to pick up another bundle; humanism, scientism, anti-theism, varyings forms of ideological possession, etc. The atheist will never call these, however, by their proper name, which would be - idolatries... and he would never call these God in the first place; as much as the nicotinist will no longer call himself a smoker, the atheist will no longer call himself a religious person - but indeed both men are still chewed in a destructive maw of addiction - for without addiction, something starts to go sour. Remember - the leap from addiction to passion is not long, and, by the way, more often than not, it is a matter of valual perspective more so than one of concrete distance.

e k s i s t e n t i a l i s m e C C C L X V I

You are not a mere victim of physics, as say, the ball becoming hit by the racket. is - you do not get to play that game.You do not have the excuse the ball becoming hit by the racket has. When the ball is hit by the racket, it becomes subject to the aerodynamic physical predicaments of nature: the ball, whose movement will be absolutely determined by the prior event of being hit by a racket, will fly with a fundamentally foreseeable trajectory. This is a direct consequence of manifold factors, such as, but absolutely not limited to, the material and density of the racket, the power with which the racket has been swung, and the aerial weather conditions through which the ball will steer its trajectory. The ball in itself could never decide in any way to undertake this trajectory, for it is inanimate and it is the mere pawn on a board of chess - the hand that is playing we know as natural reality, nothing more, nothing less... I think of the human as a breacher of this relationship between physical reality and the laws and dicta that govern it, for the human has in himself the power to outplay natural reality on the chessboard, ours is the hand that play the king and queen, and the rook, and bishop, with wit and with ignorance, as if combined - yes, that is humanity: human beings are no rackets and they are no balls, but they hold rackets and they throw the balls up into the air and they then swing their rackets onto them, hitting them with various degrees of force: yes, this is it: the human being has in its capacity to initiate sequences of events - it is with this observation of human reality that we may understand the concept of freedom, as it throbs and pulsates at the heart of its outer shell, we call it existentialism. We are humans and we initiate causal sequences - the racket, however, does not, for it merely is part of the initiated sequence: yes, we have a very distinct, and as far as I can outline, unique way of being in this world. The essential task of philosophy is to embody and to stir, as from the shadows, the violent uproar of the personality, unique as it is, which is dormant in you. This is the spiritual extreme of philosophy, and the finality of it, a concluding epitaph to it: yes, I say: the vein of existentialism runs through the body of the individual, which electrifies the violent subjectivity of the individual against everything else - and that is art!

When philosophy aspires to soften the conditions of nature over man, and therethrough aspiring to a position of responsibility in order to enhance mans place in it, it is a castration of philosophy, it has gone awry, for it is not the task of philosophy but of politics to render mans relationship with nature easier.

QUEEN OF NON MATTER // JULY 18

           a blood sacrifice oration to the cosmic queen
           goes awry in its sincere mission of purification
            and the hands that made it with such ardour
              now, in shame and in regret,
              dig the earth desperately for nutrients, but there is only clay there,
            and this sincere mission of purification
           stumbles, falls instead
                in tremoring spinal paralysis
            downward the slope of filthy and irrevocable depravation.

   a heinous tempest of final wrath
               unlocks the dirtiest secret from its vault
             and the funeral procession of the world becomes interferred
                  by the formless djinn of entropy
                    drawn out, an energy as if a venom
                     from the most dangerous and distant star systems.

        nine primordial strongholds to the north;
        and twelve tribes of aryans to the south;
        all but one eclipse under the oldest of all old fire crescents
              and a holy vexation of spiritual disease
           salutes with typhonian macht
                 the final and very apocalypse,
                 which leaves only the tribe of 
                        The End Commune.

          the empire of anti-matter
           out there in space
            with its bacteria inhabitants
           grows into the quanta of the universe
            and a queen is crowned
              in a laurel-wreath of galactic ergot;
           luminous she sits
            atop the firmament
          spewing holies upon holies
               as if a whore of cosmos
                 spitting out panspermia
                    with bitter regret and resentment;

            bitter hag of the star-sky,
             God of infected cosmos,
             reluctant to participate in anything
               but the ever entropy of worlds.
       the cosmic queen retracts her psalmata!
               but they were fraudulent even to begin with,
                     but that is the part of the story she never told anyone about.  

NINKILIM & NINGIRAMA // JULY 18

       N I N K I L I M !
    vector of all pests to man 
     with his iron blood and his grey fang-teeth,
      he is vomiting his malediction from his sole eye!

            and it grows like a child, that malediction, '
               and it gnaws like a rat
           through the fibre of what separate worlds!

              a malignant earthworm burrowing its way outward
              and into an eternal void without soil!

   and to put a seed into this soilless soil
   and to fumigate the air of these fields
      with the censer of ergot and rotten juniper
         is to rouse the demon-king of locust-plague:
      rodent-lord Ninkilim!

                         Ninkilim -
              kingly apointee of drought and field-pests
              arising from a a circle of fiery weevils
            with his anti-clockwise anus
              opening up to the dung-hills of the world
            as if a fecal sun, the rectum borealis...

         seek shelter in the heart of Ningirama
         protect from the rabid hunger of gluttonous nature
          with the ancient incantation against Ninkilim:

     "get rid of the great dogs of Ninkilim,
         locusts whose mouths are a Deluge, a tempest,
         mice whose mouths are a Deluge, a tempest!
      seize them by the hand, take them away
            to the latch of the heavens!
      roast them by command of Marduk, lord of exorcism,
           by command of Adad, king of plenty,
      and by command of Ninurta, foremost one of E-kur!"
    (the afore segment "incantation against Ninkilim"
    is drawn from the "Zu-buru-dabbeda",
    the Neo-Babylonian and Neo-Assyrian compendium of incantations
    against field-pests such as locusts, grasshoppers,
    insect, larvae, weevils and other vermin,
    the creatures known as the "great dogs of Ninkilim")

      N I N G I R A M A !
 
      apotropaic mungoose spirit of the air and the earth!
      Ningirama is he who protects the farm-lands from the cobra,
      and Ningirama is the patron of the fierce mungoose, yes, for they are his children.
         but tread carefully and at your fatal peril
               because Ningirama is just in his judgements, and he weighs in his scales of truth,  
                     but he is nevertheless ruthless on the complaining ones
                  and verily, he will slay the great dogs of Ninkilim
                    wherever they are to be found! that is,
                          if a proper sacrifice has been offered unto him;
                  but, by the same token, when Ningirama decides
                   that one deserves nothing better than cobras and field-pests,
                   then nothing better than cobras and field-pests
                       shall verily
                          come one's way.

ERIF NI STIS OHW ENO EHT // JULY 18

THE ONE WHO SITS IN FIRE
  (poetic madness inspired by "to the depths... in degradation" LP by INFESTER)

a saprophytic mist of parasite
   surrounds he who sits in fire
      leprous and forlorn
    on the throne of dead calliphoridae
   and from his mouth
      a vortex births a storm
    through the throat tunnel of something vertiginous
  and the tidal current of the sea-worm
          unhinges over the dark ocean
          which sleeps like a child in utero
             before the rape of its bearing mother

            the one who sits in fire
                boils with the blood of doom
       and a vomit-cyclone bursts
              from the storm-eye of belial.

                   everything ends
                            without pride