I don’t want to go to my imaginary synthetic slave work. I want to go away live simply, off the earth. meditate, read, be. why do I need to be so controlled by the leviathan; this so called social contract is eating me alive. When does it end? Does it ever end? I know I want to live, but is even death a respit from this clawed hand tearing holes in me for the stitches to tie me up, tighter and tighter. These are not the threads of healthy relationships, not the threads of willing participation. These are the threads of forceful command, “OBEY OR CEASE TO EXIST!” it screams as it punctures my skin yet again with another thread. “CONSUME!” it shouts as my guts fall out, shambling around my wool socks and chairlegs. What the fuck is this? The armored corpse rumbles forward, claws poised for another thread - pulling me closer with what’s already there. It consumes me, bit by bit torn apart and reassembled. Less connected, now more of an armored corpse than yesterday. I am part of the unknowing puppeteers, unwillingly animating the armored corpse, the leviathan, our allmighty unknown god.
Titans fall before the Leviathan. Titans tearing at pieces, failing to see the completeness. Pretending, unknowingly, to know. Thinking the answer is obvious, clear. But this answer they present is part of the leviathans making. It is the animated corpse, the unliving, presenting it’s truth. If I cannot comprehend, who will. Am I another titan? One more set to die as yet another unliving uncreature, disconnected and civilized?
Today I am controlled by money. I am controlled by an urge to fix a broken system, to heal and find redemption. Yet through all this knowledge - all I can see me doing is yet more feeding the unliving armored corpse. I beg to be feral, barbaric. Why on earth would anyone go to bed when they’re bubbling with energy? Why would anyone get out of bed when they’re tired? Why should we? There is no real need for this. The lumbering corpse synthesizes - creates - reason and rational for such actions. Going to work willingly unwillingly, knowing full well “I should be in bed at least anouther hour”.
THIS IS MADNESS! I hear, yet I don’t. I can’t hear it over the muffled screaming of millions of dead wailing inside the lumbering corpse as it consumes yet another of the few strands we had to our existance before. Or is this just my hopeless dream? I want there to still be enough, just enough, of living culture for us to claw back, to rebuild the longhouses and honour mother earth and father sky as only we can. This is what made us human - our ability for gratefullness and making the choice to love, not kill. Today, these are the tools of the leviathan. Violence, contempt, greed. Necessary yet controlled as humans became and were.
Today we know Cthulhu. The leviathan is but another brother. When we see it we are considered mad, lunatics, sometimes even dead to the armored society hidden in the depths of it’s carcass. And we have only seen a tiny glimpse. But even dead humans must pay, the leviathan cares not whether the liquids flowing through our veins are blood, oil or dust.
There is knowledge that precedes understanding. Some that defies it thereafter.
We call so much of it ‘magic’ and we remain stupid, lowering our gaze to books and stones.
A few of us turn our gaze upwards, A lunatic motion.
Like the trolls in the age of the witch, those creatures who stared at the pale lover so long their bodies turned to living ash, and their minds broke apart, stretching to swallow infinity.
I wonder all the time…
Are we but slow-learning trolls?
When we see the truth, will it seem like madness? And if it does, will we have the courage to leave our sanity behind?
What am I even doing here. Why accept the bullying of “civilization” when all it does is destroy everything I hold dear? What options do I have?