Desert Spirits: The Gods of Nothing

1. Home Away From Home

   2. God of Nothing

   3. Permanent Strings

Home Away From Home

At the very edge of our vision lies the boundary between perception and the outer world. These boundaries emerge as hallucinations of conscious perception, somewhere between real and unreal, at the intersection of experience and knowledge, struck through by the physical world outside of our bodies. Our bodies end, but our vision extends outwards towards the horizon, and past it. Past the horizon is something we know, and the knowledge to understand what is outside of our immediate senses pretenses to visions past what the eyes can see.

So we turn away from the senses and into ourselves. As we turn inwards, we are directed once again outwards, into the world and our memories of it. We open our eyes, and decide to look once again for ourselves.

Is this the home which lies in my memory? Is this the nature which I remember caring so much about at some point? Is this animal just like the animals which I remember from home and from television, and thus a significant animal?

Our perception flickers.

Sparks of neurons shock meat to make memory appear in perception’s window. Quality comes forward and collapses.

“Is this thing a good thing—

“This is a bad thing—

“I am a good thing—

“That is a bad thing—

Then suddenly without warning…

“I am not doing one thing, I need to do the one thing, and I am doing the other thing.

“I am the bad thing—

Here we go again! Anxiety emerges, existential horror becomes mundane and turns into task management, since it can not yet get a grip on itself within the untrained mind.

“I must align—

So the alignment happens. The dread dissipates. Until next time you are unaligned. Dread creeps in and turns everyday, mundane.

God of Nothing

No path is necessary. No path is necessary. No path is necessary.

You can click your heels three times if you’d like.

“Zero is immense.”

The sign-of-the-void leads you to the real one, which is to say the real zero, and it saves you from all that threatens you with their existence.

To blank out.

You can hop between force, but only zero can save. Only zero can destroy.

Resolution of destruction.

Casting into the void.

Like all black holes, some light shoots back out.

The sign-of-the-void leads you elsewhere, but luckily it can eat itself.

Zero will eat itself and birth the universe.

Click onto tracks with coolness, knowing zero has your back. Blank coolness. The joy of the tourist, someone who isn’t really there.

Infinitely recurring sorrow, anxiety, cured by zero.

Nothingness is the cure.

Casting into the void requires knowledge of something, in order to find the sign-of-the-void, in order to be protected, held, carried by nothing.

Returning to nothing. We blaspheme against our God, which is to say the-sign-of-the-void, the aesthetic something representing nothing. We move, and we become something. We are born, and we become something. But we can always count on nothing to be there. Materially, before we are alive, after we die, but while we are alive, we can count on it as well. It can hold us. It sustains us.

We hurt when we become something, but only insofar as we have turned away from our God, which is to say nothing. But none-the-less, we are compelled to blaspheme. This is ok, nothing never cared about blasphemy.

Permanent Strings

Nothing is permanent, but things appear permanent. From the first membranes containing the foundation for life to your existence today, a string which is unbroken appears.

Weaving can produce beautiful tapestries. Life appears, multiplies, flowers, then dies, but not before the string has led somewhere else.

So you become a weaver, or a weaving appreciator, or a perceiver of rugs. Maybe you stand on one.

The void is in a palace, surrounded by tapestries.

But take your time, you don’t have to see it all in one day.

You don’t have to see any of it at all if you don’t want to.

Maybe you’ll like a tapestry.

Don’t you like nice things?

I like nice things. Some nice things. Some nice things I don’t think are so nice. This is fine, “zero is immense,” it has my back.