Status Updates From On the Verge of Nothing: Pe...

The desire for this dimensional deficiency to be healed is to want for love to be nursed to death, fortified to the point of extirpation. Not unlike the accounts concerning those released from Nazi concentration camps who, on liberation, ate themselves to death. Love is a form of starvation, and so requires a thin gruel, the almost figmental substance of Bengal famine mix.

The world can only steal what's inside if what's inside is nothing and what's there to be stolen is that very emptiness: the world, then, steals by occupying, a squatter in a house left deliberately and vitally empty.

How pessimism differs from the religions of the world, many of which are relentless and forthright in disparaging human life, is that pessimism has nowhere else to go. Only the pessimist spends their day smearing shit over every inch of their house without even the dream of an exit. For death is not the discovery of a door to somewhere else, but the house collapsing in on us, or else suddenly expanding without end.