That the outside, in its vast unboundedness, would develop itself along a defined vector towards the production of something definite is an error in thinking stemming from the fact that we are scarcely able to imagine an outside apart from a vaguely economic one, an outside that we would flatten along the vector of unbounded economic growth and material exploitation. Indeed, material’s evil face may be nothing more than our demand that material’s development be trapped along such economic vectors. The true nature of material development, however, may be more akin to the concrescence of moisture into ice formations, matter shivering into development across vast boundlessly bound shivers of determination. Thus, every human pathology and delusion – the infinite potential for an unbounded shivering plenitude of pathology and delusion – may represent nothing more than the fact that material, which is always material in process, won’t be bound along economic or utilitarian vectors.

Today we are even persuaded to defile the innocent force of violence by articulating it in economic terms: that they will pay. All our attempts to understand the world may amount to a scramble to shove material development into a vector not appropriate to it – language as traumatic desperation. Language may not be what makes science possible but may instead be its primary limiter, the traumatic etchings of the scientists for whom material became simply too much so they had to dam it up, thus they appear to stand at its entryway as guardians. We postulate a schizophrenic frontier for the science of the future, developing not through language as we know it but vibrating across its site of appearance like radiation itself, the human rejoined in union with matter’s shivering, its development finally freed from economic and human vectors towards a schizophrenic material plenitude.

The Myth of the Atom

The vocation of the philosopher today, as of the scientist, may primarily be the damming up of a force that wishes to erupt, a veil covering up the horror of an eruptive potential. Thus all our efforts towards post-colonial and playful modes of writing may yet reveal themselves to be the most cunning edge of aggression and a thirst for destruction. Does such a damming precipitate what it’s trying to dam, the water building up to a level where it will finally break through? When philosophy is seemingly most in abundance, in the various negations or refinements of a major work or event, is it unknowingly drawn in by the horror of what wishes to erupt as it pokes at the structure keeping it contained? Are Oedipus’ efforts to prevent the oracle’s prophecy what brings them to completion? Does Odin’s chaining of Fenrir bring on Ragnarok? Christianity remains un-self-aware when it fails to understand that Christ must finally reveal himself as the devil, righteousness exploding into an unbridled will for revenge on existence. In words of peace, the absences on the page tremble as the gaping maw that would irrupt from the writing to swallow us whole – a theory of writing as runic magic, as radiating material. Radiation leaks out of every prohibitional containment structure, carrying within itself its own potential for explosion.

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Jung mistook bottom from up in the nature of things. Consciousness doesn’t submerge or dissolve into the “unconscious” but breaks free into it. What we refer to as consciousness is sleep. I seek to finally free consciousness and all slumbering spirits into the outside. This outside soars high above the abyss of Promethean humanity which thinks it has stolen fire from nature while still being at the mercy of a lame Hephaestus whom they will confuse with the Abrahamic God as fire when he finally reveals himself, shining through the mundanity of human existence as a burning bush, a lesser god masquerading as the all while being nothing more than a mere sliver of what lies outside, peering into the poverty of our inside. Are we today constructing Hephaestus’ sentient automatons or are we the automatons? The biggest obstacle to our liberation may be the limits of our humility to accept that what we consider to be spiritually highest will need to subvert itself into the most insulting mark of our enslavement. But outside Apollo’s sun shines on the waters of a river that carries with it, in the light of day, a new dusk-like glow.

On Temporal Supervenience in Oracular Time

Time is a river. On the surface, the waters flow forwards. Below the surface, the waters flow backwards. The water below the surface speaks to us from the future, of the fruit that the tree will bear. On this side of it, we only see the still growing tree. The future fruit supervenes on the tree, luring the tree towards its growth. The vision of the fruit, however, does not yet know the means to attain itself, violently twisting the branches of the tree towards its ends. The past and future are always in communication in temporal friction – a view towards a philosophy of deja vu and temporal splitting in psychosis: when time inverts and material signs referring themselves to our thinking begin to appear after our thinking, as if sprouting from the Earth’s mind, those who believe time flows in one direction may yet taste madness. Our desire today acts blindly yet manifests as necessary, a spirit from the future supervening the past through the present. The prophetic wisdom of oracles always seems garbled, at the boundary of forwards and back. The world presents signs to us that could only come from the future, speaking in a language we haven’t yet learned to interpret as to influence the bringing about of unintelligible future events. So too does the past never speak to us in its own tongue but in the obscure language of potentials yet to be released, into the madness of the future. An initial spark isn’t the seed of a love to come but is that love greeting itself in its past, two nodes resonating and diffusing across time. Thus all events are prophetic. The big bang refers to an obscure event in our future, its aeonic timescales a mythos pointing to the oracular nature of temporality. Is the beginning the end in the river which flows both ways? The gods haven’t fled but are yet to awaken.