Tagged: #NaNoWriMo

The mythology of self-annihilation.

The idealist is still alive, surviving along with chivalry of contemporary discontent and suspicion and dubious thought of the masses. He runs low, afraid, waiting to be summoned… The people speak through the people and their tune mellows swiftly with the thin air of sorrow, with the hints of hopes that have been shattered, ruin, the dreams that were violently expropriated from the public: utter annihilation of imagination. Surrender to the general thought, let the coldness of this sorrowful melody creep through your skin until your bones are frozen to death, and let it be the anthem of damnation. Chant along and you will surrender your life, until the brightness is dimmed to vanish, until one becomes not one but a disposable component of the Machine.

He is educated in the matters that matter most, the proof of fit to his well-known hero propaganda. His nemesis, the Lernaean Hydra of society, the perpetual problematic of the social body, rattles and hisses and threatens at the opposite end of the slaughter field. He thinks with the pragmatism of the impotent. What has been done cannot be undone by mundane human power of will, not even the most ferocious warrior in his titanic effort, not even struck with blessing of Olympian fortune. He cannot save us, but is not because of him that we condemn salvation as impossible. The Ruler dictates through the Machine, mechanical dominance is then enforced; the rule of law of this dynastic tyranny is now imposed. Spread the viral fear! Spread the senseless fear! Pundits, profess the Book of Ignorance! They must never know the truth, but lead them with the blindfold of false hope into the Ultimate Truth, the path of stealthy counterfeit. Proclaim the conquest of dominance! The ONE who rules over existence is not to be challenged, for consequences transcend the mortal punishment.

The hero crawls back to the dungeons. Impotence has struck his confidence. He knows no other way; he cannot help without help of the others. Relinquish the thought of the impossible and life might have the last chance for the verdict of plenary indulgence.

The Menace

Incredulous at the slightest sight of death, evasive, horrified, the silent walk of the lambs is brought to memory. This unrealistic scenario , that of death, that of ending the life as a living creature is beyond mundane intelligence. And yet survival conduct prevails, the light of hope so weak, we grasp that dimmed hope and keep it lit , we summon the spirits of forgiveness and we pray to the Heavens once again. See, we still believe, at the edge of death, the mortal finale, in pleading for the executioner to forgive . The cold sweat of fear makes itself visible and the flesh, so tender  and the body so languid. The unstoppable forces lie within ourselves: fear, ignorance and uncertainty. Death is external, beyond human intelligence, trascending that which can be controlled. Death come forth, holly or unholy.

Why summon the imaginary acquaintance when life itself is fading? Why the ritual to unknown and the unseen?Why cast a shadow away from the celestial fire? Behold, a grasp of the wind’s breath: fear not the wilderness and the beasts, do not fear the poisonous leaves: Nature’s will is unintended. What most be fearful for yourself and others is within the realm of humanity, it lives amongst us and breathes our air and nurtures itself with our thoughts and worries. Fear no the thunderstorm, or the power of incessant streams of water or the tremble of earth’s core that rattles and rattles and crumbles until nothing is left but debris of shattered hopes.

The menace

Incredulous at the slightest sight of death, evasive, horrified, the silent walk of the lambs is brought to memory. This unrealistic scenario , that of death, that of ending the life as a living creature is beyond mundane intelligence. And yet survival conduct prevails, the light of hope so weak, we grasp that dimmed hope and keep it lit , we summon the spirits of forgiveness and we pray to the Heavens once again. See, we still believe, at the edge of death, the mortal finale, in pleading for the executioner to . The cold sweat of fear makes itself visible and the flesh, so tender  and the body so languid. The unstoppable forces lie within ourselves: fear, ignorance and uncertainty. Death is external, beyond human intelligence, trascending that which can be controlled. Death come forth, holly or unholy.

Why summon the imaginary acquaintance when life itself is fading? Why the ritual to unknown and the unseen?Why cast a shadow away from the celestial fire? Behold, a grasp of the wind’s breath: fear not the wilderness and the beasts, do not fear the poisonous leaves: Nature’s will is unintended. What most be fearful for yourself and others is within the realm of humanity, it lives amongst us and breathes our air and nurtures itself with our thoughts and worries. Fear no the thunderstorm, or the power of incessant streams of water or the tremble of earth’s core that rattles and rattles and crumbles until nothing is left but debris of shattered hopes.