Birthday in the Catacombs
I can feel God's perverted eyes crawling across my skin
An all-consuming life, at the time of death, finally collapses in on itself, forming a black hole where a person once stood.
There is a version of invisibility I achieved while experiencing corporeality. I have a body and face, yet I remain fundamentally unchanging; indestructible and impenetrable from all influence and any electromagnetic currents.
The ability to form a complete opposition to life, while simultaneously living, has proven to be a success. Shadow like, inverted, operating entirely contrary to the competition, hierarchy, scarcity, and transience that pervades materiality, I’ve become both the living and the dead; embodying, and enforcing, the inescapably oppressive, indiscriminate, and totalizing equality of the reaper’s scythe — all while still immersed in the scathing, teeming, devouring world of blood and flesh. Collapsing.
I personify the terminus. The ending is a single individual human action, and I’m existing as the impulse, fulfillment, and satiation of constant aching, yearning, searching, seeking for energy, safety, meaning, understanding, sensation, experience, recognition, achievement, visibility, belonging, survival. Release.
My electromagnetic field is motionless. The atoms forming my body are suspended in a stasis far beyond, and above, survival striving.
To live is to accumulate debts, trigger imbalances, cause injustices. I was sent to Earth — as a gift — to collect and settle those missing gaps.
The ultimate reward for all-consuming life is the empty vacuum of death, and I’m the cellophane bow, the bubble wrap, the insulation sealed around the present.
The event horizon emanates from within me — a straight line, splitting between. I’m both and neither. The sum and the difference. Polarity and duality might keep the universe intact, and space and energy may fluctuate, but I remain interminably fixed. United. Permanently constant.
Ritual alcymical wedding between worlds
On Wednesday, I turned 34.