Status Updates From Chasm

Fundamental ontology tells us that whatever happens (in time) is not time, and being is no thing. “The nothing nothings nothingishly,” or whatever Heidegger said, or didn’t say, it matters not, until unnonfiction seizes upon it (as it will). There can never be enough negative ontology, because what being is not exceeds it.

Horror anticipates philosophy, spawns it automatically, and provides its ultimate object – abstraction (in itself). It comes from the same non-place to which philosophy tends. If skepticism teaches philosophy what it need not think, horror persuades it that it cannot. In this way, the pact between abstraction and horror – the thing – surpasses anything philosophy could ever be, or know.

Here’s the thing. What you think is behind, and beneath, isn’t so. That’s an image. You spun it for the sense of protection it brings. It disguises a hole, because if you saw what was missing, you’d never sleep. You don’t know what’s there, at all. You can be shown that you don’t know what’s there. It isn’t hard, to show that. A simple trick is enough to do it. There’s a gap in you - a massive missingness.

"Bolton (ignoring Zodh): You remember it?
 
Scruggs: That ancient joke? Of course. Because seven eight nine. Is this about fear, or devourings? Terror of successors, of disappearance, of being out-sized, and out-numbered, of hidden meanings. Dread of death, of primacy, of God’s lightning bolt, of divine order, of the End."

"That seemed like a good place to end it. I turned away, expecting him to wink out of phenomenality. When I glanced back, to check, he was still there."

“There’s no such state as ‘understanding’,” Bolton said. “Not really. Von Neuman put it best: In mathematics, you don’t understand things. You just get used to them. You ‘understand’ at the point you’re permitted to stop thinking.”

“Did you ever read anything about ontology?” Bolton asked me. I was familiar with the word, just a little, but enough to recognize it as a tangential response to my question.
              “Whatology?”
              “Ontology,” he repeated, missing the deflective intent of my query. “It’s the science of being. An investigation into the thingness of things, or perhaps not that – not exactly.”

"To envision anything except annihilating chaos lying beyond the screen far overstretched my imagination."

The last vague suggestions of distinct terrestrial existence were erased in the night. The cosmos was a silent storm, a stellar cyclone...

"The absence of options was a kind of relief."
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به قولِ کیرکگور، "اضطراب سرگیجه آزادی‌ست"، اینجا هم منظور همینه، چون گزینه‌ی دوم و یا همون انتخاب دیگه‌ای برای کاراکتر داستانِ وجود نداشت، آرامش داشت و نیاز به تصمیم‌گیری نداشت.

"The most recent dreams I could remember had been about sleep. I had been surprised they could exist, on the assumption that dreams were a place for unconsciousness to hide itself. Perhaps they were fake recollections."

"Zodh prays – almost ceaselessly – to whatever hoodoo hideousnesses he thinks might be noticing."

“Nihilism is nothing but too much time,”
.
“When people without enough to do begin to look for something – that’s when the problems begin.”
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و باز هم در باب شر بودنِ بی‌کاری و بطالت.

"Directionless self-entertainment would be no real substitute for a sense of purpose, not for long."
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یادم باشه یه‌جا بنویسمش 🥲🪓

در باب تبدیل بی‌کاری و وقتِ آزاد به شر! باز هم از مولفه‌های شتاب گرایی:
"To leave the crew so unoccupied was an invitation to chaos. Eventually, this compulsory liberation from the constraints of practical routine would turn into something."

نیک لند و شتاب‌گرایی!
I had brought nothing to read, & could no longer understand why. How had I thought I was going to divert myself? It was already hard to remember.Even if there was more time to kill than I could have expected,that had already been plenty

Spare time wasn’t anything familiar,professionally speaking.I had become habituated to continuous acceleration,to an extent that I only now clearly acknowledged

"A blind spot is a hole in perception that conceals itself. It’s the thing you don’t see. The cargo – the thought of the cargo – was like that. It was perfectly hidden, in every normal respect. Yet in some other and excessive dimension it loomed. It was impossible to contemplate directly, and perhaps even indirectly, but it overshadowed everything."

هر شب قبلِ خواب یکم می‌خونمش و باعث میشه رویاهای عجیب ببینم. 🥲😂

We set out into calm, miserable weather. The wind was no more than a breeze, but its icy teeth were wounding. Chill mist, tending to drizzle that never quite fell, deepened the elusiveness of a dull gray sky. According to all primitive intuition, we were heading on a meaningless course into formless infinity. Our prospects were awesome in their uninterrupted obscurity.
قلمِ نیک لند رو بسی دوست دارم 🪓.