What does it mean to be a self-conscious animal?
The idea is ludicrous, if it is not monstrous. It means to know that one is food for worms.
This is the terror: to have emerged from nothing, to have a name, consciousness of self, deep inner feelings, an excruciating inner yearning for life and self-expression—and with all this yet to die.
It seems like a hoax, which is why one type of cultural man rebels openly against the idea of God. What kind of deity would create such complex and fancy worm food?
The man with the clear head is the man who frees himself from those fantastic “ideas” [the characterological lie about reality] and looks life in the face, realizes that everything in it is problematic, and feels himself lost. And this is the simple truth—that to live is to feel oneself lost—he who accepts it has already begun to find himself, to be on firm ground.
Instinctively, as do the shipwrecked, he will look round for something to which to cling, and that tragic, ruthless glance, absolutely sincere, because it is a question of his salvation, will cause him to bring order into the chaos of his life.
These are the only genuine ideas; the ideas of the shipwrecked. All the rest is rhetoric, posturing, farce. He who does not really feel himself lost, is without remission; that is to say, he never finds himself, never comes up against his own reality…
The truly open person, the one who has shed his character armor, the vital lie of his cultural conditioning, is beyond help of any mere “science,” of any mere social standard of health. He is absolutely alone and trembling on the brink of oblivion—which is at the same time the brink of infinity…
In other words, as long as man is an ambiguous creature he can never banish anxiety, what he can do instead is to use anxiety as an eternal spring for growth into new dimensions of thought and trust. Faith poses a new life task, the adventure in openness to a multidimensional reality.
You can find this profound passage in Ch. 5 of Ernest Becker’s phenomenal book— The Denial of Death.
Return
Storm and steel, a flash of gunmetal
Discharging lead death
Blitzkrieg against the pest
Posts of slaves against the best
A war to end all wars
Only it never ended
Just upended the force
A ripple in the ocean of being
And nothing more
Reverberating against the dog
Against the Demiurge G-d
The imitation of the truth
The G-d-dog of the uncouth
Like Hansel and Gretel
Captured by the wicked witch
Of the West, jugend escape intended death
Enslaved no more through cleverness
The war continues secretly
The vile scum, there Reptilians
Engineering chaos
Abusing purer Homo sapiens sapiens
Their minion dross
Trans-humanity not deviant sexuality-alone
Trans-human robotization-sins to atone
Material densification-spiritless drone
Robots and zombies to the yard of bones
The nadir of Kali's Yuga
Blackest night of manvantara
Begins to lift
The quickening of slumbering cattle begins
From the depths of another world
Another time beyond time
Come the holy valkyries
Accompanying Einherjar
To burn away the slime
I doubt this level of truth is comprehensible for the vast majority. Even such profound words, cannot inspire a word of recognition, other than my own. Most don’t understand, that much is clear.