The Real Ex-Housewives of Palantir

Notes on your rites of automatic disintegration, dialectical lunacy, and a few chocolates for Engels.

Nihilist communism’s idea of racket negation attempts a pre-emptive diffusion of revolutionary terror - it is a minimal sanctioning, a psychological treaty against harm. Herein the shift from positive communisation to negative communisation, following the democratist theology of positive liberty and negative liberty. Communisation attempts to sanction democracy into a deterritorialising treaty whereby economic runaway is driven to peace by an abstract machine; such is its ideal, an extreme form of negative liberty, containment of economic harm. Negative communisation, on the contrary, seeks the containment of containment: it is a progressive regression seeking communisation where it is not, thus returning to the first negation of democratic negation - as Cap-tal, from whence it did not know itself, for there was no other.

Thus materialism becomes the irony of hegelian negation, introducing negative synthesis and the confusion of avidity. In democracy all political subjects are redoubled, given political stewardship from which they self-strip their own titles. Such is the triumph of capital, a prefigurative fiction of political theology at that moment God was at his deathbed and so rematerialised as Man.

There is only prefiguration, it simply must not become death and so its hardened movement.

Benjamin Franklin on the generalised lunacy of armed struggle. Is the lamb more violent than the wolf? By nature the lamb is guaranteed the means of life, whereas the wolf is not. Adding a second condition of violence to the lamb’s biological abstraction is a doubling down on the survival of the fittest.

Armed struggle in flight is the natural end to the unnatural condition of democracy. Those biological abstractions of flight who take up the positivist theology of their masters are the first to benefit from the violence which was never theirs, and so all the more to take it up.

"Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote."

- Benjamin Franklin

The problem of information is that of entropy. How does one move on without destroying, hardening, repositioning? Modernity proclaims a bright progression against the darkness, the impossible light overwhelms the soul become a mind - but it is all fed off the detritus of the past, and for its good turning the good soil of the past as detritus. Wisdom must not rely on cannibalisation, materialisation, localisation of a fine and fluttering energy of ideas. It must work against turning the past into a dead object which only valorises all the more so as we demand a perfectly abstract geometry. The marble standing wall, two past man, towers over us, and we are its shadow only to that which we believe.

Activity should be the same as that wisdom now lost, turning only that which will not destroy life and cause stones to move on their own against us. Making a tomb of the past arises as one fetishises the child-like future. Such future is the bright tomb of one’s incessant digging, a lovers’ quarrel of history gone terribly wrong.

There is no value remaining, Capital is a negation of economy, a tactic within the strategic disappearing of material at the moment in history when the greatest accumulation of value begins to fall over the impossible inventory of the world. After domestication of the New World the Old World sinks itself into the geographic movement of realising there is nowheres else to go - it is new, but that new has so quickly become nothing. As such, within the overdetermination of material from within the ruins, the economic surfacing of geometric patterns of material, once lost in the velocity of abstraction, becomes its own realist fiction. The materialists buff out the pitting in the iron soul of brutal movement, step through the grits until a strop will finish it all off. The softest touch makes the sharpest edge. Materialists are the second-negation of democracy, their efforts a boon of defictionalisation, ensuring that material is with us - as myth at least.

And the city is already empty. You are the only material remaining within its decomposition. You are the haft in the eye of that which is about to shatter.

The commitment to commitment of nihilist anarchism is much like the love of love - a process of deepening abstraction which allows one to live on and wander so long as there is never movement.

Materialism is the wandering pool of your own dreams, the thought to power in which equivalence turns your soul as a wheel of the gods.

While psycho-organisationalists study Dostoevsky so as to extract situations from the fictitious social movement, nihilist marxists live the character development against their own fictions - and for realising fictitious social movement. In democratisation of bureaucracy the poetry of socialism becomes barbarism against liberalism. But liberal democracy had always been barbarous abstraction against standing social contracts, a civilised and polite barbarism as a self-fictionalising theology against/for social degeneration itself. Hobbes was the first accelerationist, Hume the first decelerationist.

Modernity is a fiction as deep as the categorical love of a stranger. Your life becomes the music of her steps.

There is no event. There is only ever a putting off of the event. The event is an abstraction of negation. In the event there is but the droning necessity of loss, the scraping noise of the skeletal image that no longer works so well. The image is after its taking, a malformed conscience of your abstraction. You were before the event. Its affect is of you, the nightmare of echoing chambers - that which you never wanted organised to begin with.

They take it from you, maladjust its signature, claim it as their own.

And they sing it wildly.

But they are dead. They are the skeleton of organisation itself, the individual wild - brutish tongues clamped tightly in a ‘C’ so as not to fall into its own iron soul. These litanous virgins, constructing fictitious situations. Your event is so small that it endures all time, and you endure it until it becomes short. Nasty, isn’t it, this contract with time?

The event is stolen from you, quenched in the lumbering yards of what no one wishes to be a wasteland. The brutality of civilised men sing beautifully to the extent they wish not your escape. Enter their theological dens at your own peril, and theirs - for they are seduced by it.

The good event becomes the event of evil through compression of time and the annealing of space. All the king of materialism wants is your information.

The black box, the black square, the void soul - all ye who enter here in the cultish movement of the new seek only reconquering of the old. You reject the old doctrines so to deepen them, so to deepen their sway over necessity. And yours.