A Sinister Unfolding - Away with the Way

No theory today escapes the marketplace. Each one is offered as a possibility among competing opinions; all are put up for a choice; all are swallowed. - Theodor Adorno (1973: 206)

Once having peeled ajar the ominous cover of the grimoire which then lay before me, I was met with a peculiarly riotous urge that of a mirthfully frenzied laughter, unabashedly mocking and shrill: a cry at once unforgivably licentious and simultaneously wholly becoming; for how could something so severe and nefarious as this, an obscure tome abounding with reverential evocations of the selfstyled sinister, provide for such devilishly fine amusement - dubious though it may then have seemed? An apt retort would perhaps run thus: as with all things which heretofore have come to pass, the sinister, too, is laughable! It is not regrettable that you now cackle so, but instead, that you ever seriously considered such a dismal farce! I was once he who strove to surmount the tallest pyramid of skulls, surveying landscape upon landscape for the farthest horizon of all; a stubbornly intrepid voyager, mounting signifier upon signified in hope of discovering the ever-lost and longedfor real - alas, I did not yet know how to laugh; I had not yet learnt to dance upon shifting floors, nor to coalesce with kaleidoscopic miasmas! An explanation may, perchance, be in due order - but expect no sense from this ludicrous jest The pyramid, you see, stands not only tall, but must also reach as low as it stretches high; and once at its nadir, perhaps lower still, as that which is falling must also be pushed! When occupying great heights one may indeed observe with brash hauteur the many degrees of altitude below, but only through having endured the nethermost depths may one truly learn to soar. Aye, one must attempt with utmost zeal to eschew, for a brief moment, all notions of attainment, and to forgo ones cherished telos, logos and nomos - hence ushering forth the godless, misosophically-immanentized eschaton: utter obliteration of all as the highest creative act. Not only the night, but ones entire world, too, must end before the possibility of a newly struck dawn; what is required is breakthrough, and not breakdown a ligne de fuite traced via self-erasure. Enter the fuscum subnigrum; do not shrink back at this, the abyssal ever-intermezzo. Orphaned, naked, with brows thoroughly strained and suffering of halting fatigue, I collapsed at the zenith of my penultimate conquest, tumbling henceforth towards the beginning of my fated odysseys end. Ariadnes thread had finally hung itself the asphyxiating coil which had for so long promised aeons, now torn asunder, gave way to schizoid glee. Prometheus solutos, no longer subordinate to constraining cathexes upon the dead rats ass hanging from the ceiling of the sky! The putrid stench of transcendence now having faded, free from the cruel torment of representational reactivity, no longer groping after obscure vagaries promised by the gnomic hollers of arcane seers suddenly awoken as madman of the steppes. Fool if ever I was before, here I stood a fool once more: a giddy Heraclitean fire-machine whose very breath bore the index of primordial lunacy. Madness echoes boldly through the gobsmacking void, chuckling in accord with brisk chaosmic synergies, infinitely

cascading cacophonic refrains, differential fractal splits, and unhinged flows. Ah, what bliss, this viroid lan vital a thoroughly intensive becoming-imperceptible! No longer monad, but nomad: a deranged chaote, cured of all cures, wholly enraptured by the riveting fever of a pure Dionysian ekstasis - I (the fractured shard of what once seemed unitary and discrete - now a mere simulacrum fluctuating amidst so many others) now traverse the boundless vistas of immanence, and am traversed in turn by the immanent vistas of boundlessness, confronting directly the ceaseless flux and artistry of becoming in its innumerable modes of unfolding and expression without recourse to any form of mediation whatsoever neither a Sinister Creed, nor a Dreccian Code. Nay, all is now scorched by the blistering heat of the Sublime. The molar succumbs to the molecular, and the molecular to the catastrophic-divine; primeval flame, fierce lightning charge; exultant blossom of dawn, furtive wilt of dust. Utterly and irretrievably scattered into the wildly riveting constellations of an overwhelmingly splendorous chaosmos, with no strict allegiance, free to roam and play: there is here no Way but that of a purely spontaneous unravelling nebulous genesis, the stroke an unhinged brush rendered freely amidst chaos by the hands of chance and necessity; this canvas is torn, and art flows effortlessly through its ruptures. Away with the Way crowned anarchy reigns supreme! The time is now ripe for challenge, for difference, for change: contra sinistro sed pro vero sinistro!

-Chaosmote-