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Largely an exercise in discrete miserabilism.

“There was no life here. Hell was a machine. Except us. Here, her hand in mine was the one reality that severed us from the cold click-clack of Hell. I rubbed her hand and she sighed; wasn’t that meaning? Wasn’t that something we could cling to? I could be with this other. I could form no other relation, but maybe her hand in mine was enough, both sufficient and necessary”

There is something, I think, deeply Nietzschean about it. At least in the Deleuzean reading. There is a praxis illuminated on how to manage the balance of active and reactive-forces, spiritually and psychologically (if there is a distinction), which stems from Freudian ambivalence.

Think I may hate this book...

"Impending violence is by no means inconceivable. We’re only just beginning to understand what we’re capable of.”

Absolutely no idea what is going on but completely captivating. Weird energy, weirder imagery. So it's perfect so far

This book is amazing!!!

This is so-so so far right??

When you open with a quote from Gilles Deleuze you just know....

ok 1933 micropolitics and segmentarity goes fucking so hard frfrfrfr

So far, a beautiful, fever-dream of a dying priest suffering with a severe case of ressentiment. In the Nietzschean sense.