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/lit/ - Literature

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>> No.18757459 [View]
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18757459

There was night club on top of strange cinema that during the day doubled as place of porn. I decided to go inside once with friend, and old man farther on same row contrived so that he got out right in front of us and brushed right by me, grabbing my crotch. I shoved his face into the wall, and had to push my way past security-guard with terrible breath and goblin-like pockmarked face. There was loose vampire bat in lobby that had flown in, but this normal. Outside on the street as I ran looking for taxi there was black woman taking shit in middle of road. At intersection in gray beaten up Volvo there was a driver with no head and on seeing this I entered a state of vertigo and fugue. Some talk about this “madness behind things.” The real world is very different from the one that appears to us in waking life, but it’s not so different as to be entirely alien or abstract or “philosophical” in the way you might think. It’s not abstract, or made of perfect and eternal forms, it’s not somewhere else: it’s immanent, here, and within things, and it’s twisted. It doesn’t have any moral significance that can be understood by us. When Heraclitus speaks of all things being one, and all things being fire, he means this: when this actually shows itself to you, there is a demoniac and violent madness underlying things. The real world is similar to the apparent, but uncanny, devilish, disordered for us. Its hidden order, the fatal X behind things, reaches for things and aims beyond our scope as humans: it’s why Lovecraft knew it was true, our world is fashioned by a demiurge who is a blind, retarded schizophrenic. Its origin and happenings and its fate is in the play and war of the most gruesome factions, forgotten gods…to them we’re like stowaway rats on a ship. This shows itself most vividly in some dreams, which, if they had continuity, we couldn’t distinguish from waking life.

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