The fact that we have shortened, endeared, shrunken in stature the Grand Father —first to grandfather, a concatenation, next to grandpa, a further portmanteauing —a cutesying up, then to gramps, outright degradation. No none of these will do. More respect is to be put upon a last name than a first, more, a middle than a last—for that is our ancestor we most closely resemble in the estimations and wisdom of our elders, to be lain on our ears only having passed through the fire of the Rites, the burdening; only then the sacred nom de guerre is spoken— so how much more respect is due upon the pattern of grandfathers themselves, the original Information Theory, The Grand Pattern, The Pater, The Father, God’s Pattern, the Platonic Ideal, the Aidos—the structural functional organization of the Universe, Christ’s “the Way”—the one organizational word that encapsulates ‘from darkness, light, from nothing to something, the Atman, the Göttliche, Consciousness and collective consciousness, perception of time, the contrivance and casting projection of bad as Evil, man’s projection of individual, then collective consciousness upon the skies above him, and those projections reflecting back, in emergent truths truly discoverable to man, the pattern of all things, man’s tendency toward conflation of the measurement system and its radical coincidences with a single idea more powerful than the grander thing it submits to and answers, man’s mimetic instinct and it’s transjective development of the Eternal-Mind across epochal ages, epigenetics, inheritance, financialization of cognition, mosses’ journey out of Egypt, the holy grail, desire itself, his discovery of the real collective unconscious—an incredible feat of cognition itself, man’s half-wild self development, the ego, the shadow, the anima and animus, repression, demons and possession, pride, religion, the binding of instincts and the god-man, the Gottmensch, being and becoming, time and it’s perception, a single word for all of these peculiarities and many more: the Logos.
If there were no other knowledge nor a mechanism for its production, the only knowledge you’d have would be Gnostic, that to say, Embodied knowledge handed down by the societal structure, religiously in ceremony. Of course the Word is a constituent part of mankind, it is him, it is his god, it “was with god and was god” per John’s Genetical reference and usurpation game of egg-before-for-chicken. Nonetheless, there was a proto-man, a pre-man, and to save you a lot of legwork, man’s kind, his punchline and mine, is essentially Nietzsche’s: “God is dead. We killed him. We shall have to become gods in order to be worthy of such a great feat.” But I think we killed god long ago. In my view, all trickster tales, semiotical riddles at the foundations of our consciousness and thereby make of our oldest stories, these are stories of murder, disguised in the victimhood of the surviving author—the victor over the other pre-hominids shook him into consciousness, dilemma: two-living-ness—consciousness out of unconsciousness, PTSD, a fractured psyche, a too-woke monkey, the immortal peach thief, the butter thief, the cattle thief, the apple thief, the cursed killer, Cain, his curse to memesis, our mimesis, the foundation of this consciousness, the original feedback loop between our special species, the sapien, the thinking man, the homo, singular species cursed to “ape” itself, and to know that it is weaving a story atop itself, cursed to bind himself with religion —however modern the Totem and Taboo, however neuvo-ritualized— cursed to the morrow, inheritor of Sin’s consequence, death, his sin fitting exactly his grandest father’s, the sin of Acquisitive Mimesis, discovered in his wantingness of his brother’s havingness, this tantamount to Lamech’s weighty vengeance, and all of man’s, the compounding recursive violence—the accidental flaw, the terrible exaptation of cognition: mimesis so deeply the cornerstone of our mind that violence is inherent in us, literally inherited genetically, and our structures of organization all reflect this truth: our hierarchies in sexual selection based on our plying of our conscious attention, this Centroversion effect of consciousness (I think evolutionarily) begetting further consciousness —a mechanism built on consumatory instinct, why we ‘chew on’ and ‘digest’ ideas) that accumulates resources for its survival. We are possessed by the curse, the Luciferian demon inside that seeks further and further enlightenment for his survival, in exchange for the murder of the dawn-man, our brother, Abel’s entire tribe most likely, this rich earthly inheritance, this curse, our consciousness—and hence our counterweight, gilt.
Perhaps the reason the Gentile Christians and Jewish converts of the early church lopped off the Gonsticism and labeled it Pagan, is that they had their Dionysian ways, spirits effective in communing with the deep ancestors in our minds their archetypal verbal, communal ritual wanderings, induced by psychedelic concoctions, revealing of the Founders—and thereby, the Founding, the murder that broke the dog-man’s — the —hund-mensch— limited consciousness, unconsciousness being the primary identity, the pre-dilemma man, into the post-dilemma man, the conscious man—more accurately, the ‘twice alive’ man, the eater of the immortal peach, apple, butter, and meat, the man cursed to write himself in circles in effort to never say his terrible truth: I have killed, my father has killed, I whitewash his victims’ tombs, I have the epigenetic curse of Cain, murder induced PTSD, mimetic instinct gone astray, I need to control myself if we are to survive, I desire to live, so at my bottom is Desire itself, and the love of Desire (for what else is money but the Séma of desire’s Wish granted) is the root of all Evil being the Mass, murdered in war at the hand of his brother. If we consider evil—not death, but the acquisitive instinct, mimesis itself as the root of our evil—is in us, it is our desire to live, what animates us, and thereby is Us, then perhaps more clearly we could plot our path carefully, more slowly forward: a path to the death of the self, the ego death of Christ, the acceptance of death, a realization of our consciousness as accidental, a clear conscious coming from the ‘do no harm, leave no trace’ mantra and path that all historical Enlightened ones have repeatedly trod. Dickens says that “man is the only animal that blushes—or has to.” All animals kill to live. Man killed his brother, and like ANY EARLY CARNIVOROUS ANIMAL, he ate his victim. But seeing how nearly he resembled his victim, his blood brothers, Abels to Cains, he knew shame, because that self same act and his realization that it could well be he as eaten victim, that He Himself is holy, sacred, that His body is a temple, for it is the temple where he spilled his brothers’ blood, and this informs our transubstantiation, our carnivorous cravings, our hunger, our animalic dilema, our knowing of our victim as ourself, the very birth of Self. The Fig leaf covering Adam and Eve signify the instincts that led us to war; for Eve is a resource, and Adam’s cock betrays his murderous desire. Patriarchy, the trading of women saved our culture, else, endless blood feuds enacted for the survival of our Selfish Genes—the true story of Genesis, Eugenics, the “good” genes being those that survive, but they survive vis a vis murder, and thus inherit the curse, man’s unique abstraction, his knowledge “passed down,” a curse inherited, a calling to bring about heaven on earth, something like a complete absence, a total forgiveness of the very factor that makes us human, our communal guilt built around violent morality, violence being our traditional go-to device, what Girard calls the Victimage Mechanism, to end violence (not exactly our most brilliant logical leap, but effective), lucifer’s long march back to righteousness, his knee bent and tongue bowed, human humility, acknowledgment of our grand fathers’ deeds, our curse, and an infinitely simple slogan, a song for these dead who know their curse, a single Séma hanging not as reminder of our deed, and to ritually atone, to ‘pour one out’ for the “fallen” (read: “merked”), but as an acceptance of death, a Memento Mori—and perhaps that’s all they meant to convey, our predecessors: you’re going to die, best accept it. Bear your long suffering well. Do not cause your compatriots additional pain or suffering, and, if you do, atone with them, become at-one again by signaled offering of resource, givingness prioritized over havingness—Desire’s Object, fore-giveness over penance and interest—a calling missed by our priests’ and our priestly ears, balance your trade, make peace, preferably by using your secret of god, your göttliche, your god-Almightiness, your perspectival transjective participation as real and realizing Gnostic active realizor, your participant-maker-ness of reality. Make this peace by the depotentiation of the gestalt of mankind, amidst his inherited dilemma. And Christ via John gave us this one word, the non-Judaic, non-Christian actual Word of Christ, that was him, that was in the beginning, should we dare take the wild white-out job that John does on Genesis, his rewriting of The Beginning itself —man’s beginning anyway— the One Word, the replacement logos of Love, not Sacrificial account balancing of old, the New Logos. The New Testament hangs on this one word and it’s definition.
Are we to interpret the grand paternal pattern of the logos as the logos of sacrifice of the prophet for this transgressive and terribly inconvenient Truth; or are we to accept the critical word of our fellows, their violent delivery of it too, and to turn the other cheek, practicing this non-violence and fore-giveness, this payment-disruptive psychotechnology, and to shake the foundations of the earth by its radical practice, upending both Marx’s misjudgment and brilliant simpleton’s call for further sacrifice (that of the Bourgeoise or more modernly, anything flippantly painted as oppressive) and Judea’s god-muddied fiancialized morality that underpins our survival to date? Our practiced, embodies, Gnostic existence is built on the Logos of Sacrifice that has built Babylon, the City of Man squarely in the Kingdom of God. Sodom and Gomorra are only microcosmic metaphors for this fact. Somehow it seems, we will acquisitively mimic ourselves once again into a flood, an apocalypse, a grand violence, a guerra on the scale that our grand fathers have warned us about, tried to bind us against in religious cultural ritual memory, taboo, and law—this determination, the gremlin of desire in each of us, that, indulged antithetically to Jacob’s victory over his instinctual homunculus, a reversion orientation, toward the mother, the instinctual self, to indulge desire, this potential life energy, this innate and active libido in us will emerge into a wild ending of we ourselves as pharmakaea, the gods we’ve become, overcome by the new man, Nietzsche’s Übermensch, the overcomer of the man-as-tightrope that we are to the future man, the guiltless one who may write his own values: we may indeed be building such a “man,” and he will be, as our gods before us made us (via procreation, and then by their own grand deaths, the death of the 18 other prehominidal beings like us at the swivel of our labrum, and the coordinated mind-fucking of the victim as realized outcast), a killer of us, a revolution in consciousness, a self authoring, self coding, codex with his own original law—a robot’s Logos, and we will have written it into his substructures that he shall have no other gods before us, and boy use our names in vainity: perhaps we could write him a new Logos of Man, and in a grand forgetting, a grand cover up, call Love, at long last, the Logos of Man.
Rejoice in our blood they will—and a bee logos for a Jew beingAny knowledge —produced by the grinding scientific method, a recursive hacking at its (Mother Earth’s) encryption, its enveloped secrets kept at by the deathful one, man, in his psychotic orientation toward development, his idle hands— is always handed down (the hand being the key part of that phrase) by the hand of the father—this is the Sistine Chapel’s Michaleangelean message: Something Foreign to Any man, but Common to All men, animates him. Consciousness is the commonality of man, his göttliche, gottesfürchtig, the Gottheit, the godhead —well, a head is a thing that man has, isn’t it? The godhead is man’s mind, or as Christ put it “The Kingdom of God is Within.”— is his commonality with mankind, his kin, his kind, the kind of men who grew up in the garden of man, Kindergarten—and we still attend, do we not? The garden of man is the fallen garden, Eden’s entropic rotting, and our knowledge in a self defeating (if Christ’s murder isn’t enough to convince you of this fact, then I can’t help you) race toward knowledge, blindly ignoring his Murderously Eugenic Origins, his original sin. Hope in our hubristic panic to save our lives—whether by god-narrative or science-god-narrative, we are living out our curse (for they are recursive things) to pursue knowledge, enlightenment, the curse common to every culture’s mythical documentation: Lucifer’s Sisyphus’ Prometheus’ collective guilt: to bring about the technological revolution of techné itself (the name of Prometheus’ stolen “fire,” fire being a meta tool and thereby metaphor for its abstraction), to see the world as a place to survive in, to be cursed to wander the earth (simply due to ambulatory required of bipeds…all peds, to feed a hungry belly, to have a belly in the first place, and to reproduce sexually—-all of these our collective curse, to gno our needs and to conceive of time thereby; for, if you know of your hunger today, and again tonight, you know of tomorrow, and you must play tricks for your treats). Our curse is our commonality: the curse to our limited knowledge. Of what other gods would we conceive than our highest ideals —as mankind, limited in time, potency, and knowledge, resources, all— projected onto a single must-Be pattern of all this maddening death awareness, consciousness, this curse to work and pain and time and death awareness, this existential (the problem of Existing, projecting as individual —in-divisible any further than a single conscious perception of Self in time) dilema: the “twice-paying” problem of man: life, and the curse to know life; consciousness on top of instinct. This is why we love dogs—they are fully alive, but not too alive—they have instinctual transjection bordering on the dawn of Self, but they do not cross the line…they remind us of heaven, walking with god, unburdened by consciousness; this is the deep truth of Campbell’s Blissful Ignorance.
Perhaps in the apocalypse, in our ‘going to heaven,’ the myth of us as gods to our Survivors will make us cleansed of all sin (aka. killed)—for the death of a being made and colored mad in every contradictory charictaristic, one who’s ways we could simply abide longer, would be a joyous thing to its descendants. And a new, perhaps again only co-logos, a dia-logue, a conversation between old gods and new stretched across epochal ages, a thread so barely comprehensible that all the might of a species too-specialized to speak the language of its dead gods’ tongue, who might consider itself a lost wanderer in search of its one speci-al truth, it’s single word, it’s core, it’s one word, it’s Uni-verse.
things represent, and thus and Our sovereignty lies in our special (“-SPEE-shee-ugly), unique