New World Xaos

“Unsettling oceans linger in your thoughts at night, we suspect.

“You came home on break from school first Christmas after you'd gone away...you know you can tell me, signal me somehow, if you remember, if you start to remember; remember remembering can be like trying to catch fireflies in a jar, a spark that can get away unless you make to catch it just so.

“No? Okay. But you'd like me continue, yes? Okay. Alright. Feel free to grab hold my hand if you feel you need it. We don't want to hurt you.

“When it happened no one could tell yet what was going to happen, how bad it was going to get that Christmas—you should know, I should tell you, that there were many suicides, people jumping, people popping—some people came to call it lemmin'ing, ten-fifteen percent of the country in as many weeks. Everyone knew someone who made their end that way. Some people say that the lemmin'ers are the lucky ones, gifted with the foresight to end it before the curtain rose on what was coming; I think they were just scared and didn't know what to do; there isn't anything special about that.

“Try. Try to imagine it: you've lost it all and still finding things to lose. What do you lose when you've lost it all? Dignity. Strength. Freedom. Purpose. Hope. Lose those things and suicide looks like a gift. You're still young; it's okay.

“You want me to continue, yes? Okay. Lots of family-men committed suicide that Fall; when the illiquid capital soaked back into scorched earth, they could not stomach the new world values that xaos came.

“Your father had land at the edge of the county, where nature and culture blurrs into eco-tones; you come from people had a sense of respect, fear, admiration about them, so the county took its time to serve the papers to your father, but when the sheriff came to serve the papers bearing His seal, the sheriff came upon you, you who had sometime arrived home from school, where He had yet to gather power. The morning of your arrival, we can safely deduce, your father strangled your mother and poisoned your eight little brothers—that’s right, you don’t remember? Your nuclear family was an eleven-fold-node, an hendecahedron. Your father pursued his lips around two thick cold barrels, but he sawed them off first; his mouth wrapped tight around the barrel to deliver the shells that spray shots of blood, brains, teeth, skin, hair, cartilage, skull-dug-confetti all over the white sheets of your bed and your bedroom walls. We believe, from our preliminary investigation, you arrived home excited to be back with your family and raced to your room to the up-wrenching scene your father had wrought for you to find. We believe that this first trauma, which was the first for you to discover, but the last, chronologically, to happen, did not cause your catatonia, as the sheriff, who was, it so happens, a mile away on approach to the house around the time you arrived home, heard three distinct instances of primordial screams, one for each of the scenes your daddy had wrought. You lost your stomach again and threw your heart-shaped locket to the ground when you found your brothers all sound to dead asleep, each in their own little twin bed in the eight-sided room your father fashioned as a barracks.

“We know you went around to each of them as they found accumulations of dried salt, tears we suppose that had begun from the first. We do not know what else you did when you found your brothers, but the sheriff had a hard time making it to the house, so there were some 37 minutes or so between the second and third scream, between leaving your brothers and finding your mother. The sheriff tells of seeing you in a state, I paraphrase, beyond all existential calculations; you looked to be screaming, but all the sheriff can say is how total the silence had become after the third scream; it was silent, but there was a sound beyond the sound of hearing, he says it’s like listening to seashells, or something like that—he isn’t one for words.

“I believe there is one word for this: Apotheosis.  

“When the world is sick can anyone be well?

"Danny came to power offering a solution for the sick world:

• Embrace The Sickness
• Love Hate
• A New Day Rising
• Find Peace in War
• Forget the Past
• Share Your Wounds
• Doom Yourself Free
• Live in the Moment
• Don’t Think
• Don't Think Twice
• Just BE
• It Will All Be Fine

“What shapes thought regarding future generations, societies-to-come? Annihilation along with reconstruction?

“Hard to say yes to the nothing. Say yes to life; say yes to nothing.

“You probably feel like you have already said these things to naught and life, respectfully, that the cataclysm you arrived en-stamps you enough; but you and I both know you can go deeper. I'm going to tell you why I need your help.

“We are going to teach you how to follow time and space trickle into singularity, cross over horizons of thought heretofore unknown and unmentionable. What happened to you was a micro-cosmic-atom-bomb on your psyche, on your identity. If we do it carefully, we can guide your reconstruction to re-center your existential corpus on seeing the world as creation not technological domination. He has faith in your ability to recognize these structures inside your mind as well as outside in the world. I can see in your ocular expression that you know what I mean.

“We mean for you to end the mind-wandering in our culture. We mean for you to end perplexity. We mean for you to end errancy. The end of wandering, perplexity, and errancy is the birth of the beginning; you are the end and the beginning, Arabica; we have reason to have faith in you even though we have no mind for everything we want you to bring to us.

“You must have noticed how the people around you no longer want to think. He acknowledges this; the Mass-Media-Control-Apparatus operates under His license. He knows people would rather tickle themselves to their end, so he made it all free—eons of screening guaranteed as a new right of citizenship. He tells his inner-inner-circle how curious it is in this world today of rife fascination, novelty, and appearance masked as reality, that there isn’t much thinking. We’re ready to show you to the threshold. I take your continued silence to be tacit consent for continuance.

“We are, all of us, asterisk of History—you are, in your own special way; you were left untouched by the reëducation campaigns, as your father was crafty enough to provoke a scene of terror requisite to render unto you the appearance of being deaf and mute—even if he didn’t design it that way, it worked to your favor; you are Hermes, Arabica—I see in that flicker that you’ve read about him, too.

“Since you don’t know what was going while you were with the people who really were deaf and mute, left alone to your own devices—Classics, it seems—everyone else was being reëducated into His ways. It gradually came to be that knowledge became something guarded, something saved for those were deemed worthy, given license to study logos at the academy of peripatetic-paradigmal-cataclysmic-re-constructive-entheogenic-thaumaturgers over the course of a decade, deep in the Pacific Northwest. Everyone else was retrained to be someone who found all answers in Danny's Book of Questions and Answers: the Final Book.

“One finds His ans. and then stops looking:

• Hungry? He has an ans. for that: Microwave

• Lonely? He has an ans. for that: Virtual Reality Pornography, or sex slaves, your choice
• Self-un-actualized? He has an ans. for that: Pharmaca-Final Solutions
• Scared of your neighbor? He has an ans. for that: Give the police live feeds into your house
• Sick? He has an ans. for that: Give doctors live feeds to your body
• Why is the Sky Blue? He didn’t think the other colors felt right.
• Where do babies come from? He sprouts seeds in a jar, then creeps into a lucky wife’s chamber at night to plant the seed inside her while her husband watches and holds her hand.

“You seem concerned. Frightened. What’s wrong? Oh, you want to write something. Please; I’d be honored. Oh, I see, of course. We’ve taken for granted that you remember some of what happened.

“You might think the language I am about to use to describe the event of His Ascension is inappropriate, but the following is Danny's Dogma. He came to power by entering each and every one of us, except you all, those granted a license of exception, entered each one of us to implant the seed of the promise of His New World to scaffold-vine its way throughout our body and mind—we become a host for Him, the host of hosts. Now you must understand how literally I mean this: He had to enter each one of us concretely, in the flesh. Now, He couldn’t enter 300 million people himself, so He licensed out His rendering to people, anyone who might be excited by the prospect of a lifetime of limitless sex, as He states, since in all things there is entropic degradation, His seeds must be reapplied with each passing season: Over a billion reaffirmations each year. There are meticulous records kept, fluid samples, photo/video-graphic documentation, respondent feed-back.

“According to the faithful, which has become to be somewhere near 87-93% of the population, He brings His truth up deep inside, to refound the place where each one of us is broken, something that He alone can fix. I will tell you the truth, Arabica: He knows He can’t really fix them; He is just getting them all ready for a resistance-less nothing. He’s going to push the reset buttons on Earth. It's there in a brown leather suitcase; He and the inner-inner circle consecrate their meetings with deference toward the means to the final end.

“We want you to help us think through what that would be; we have a machine that brings you to and then beyond the White Light of Death to bring back some knowledge of life after death, what forms life takes beyond the body: I think we can use the machine I invented to hone your brain to attune itself to the patterns and weaves of essential energies beyond those that give form to our existence. We are trying to create our own version of the singularity, one where Humanity is saved, not annihilated. You will meet the sunrise over the event horizon and then return. Would you like to try this? I take it from your continued lack of refusal that you concede to proceed. You will now go into the Ispynak Simulation Cyclotron Manifestor.”

“Now, tell me what you have seen.”

Arabica Responds:

“Essence is the mandala of existential Metatron's Cubes all the way up and all the way down, inside and out, between, within, beyond all scopes of being and time.

“Existence and essence dwell in the shadows of the uncertainty principle beyond all scopes of being and time.

“Existence is the incarnation of essence; essence is an incantation of existence beyond all scopes of being and time.

“Essence synchronizes, triangulates, tesseracts existence beyond all scopes of being and time.”

“Can you draw what you saw through the machine?”

“No, but I can show you some artists who have gotten close.”

“No, Arabica, you cannot. He certified them be destroyed. All of them, at least in our country. You’ll have to work from your memory of them. You have an exception that bears His seal to recreate for us what the machine created for you.”