Eat shit. Eat shit, eat shit, eat shit, eat shit is what I’d tell the world. Smash all things to dust and live king-like on ashes. Live king-like in ruins which need no destruction – they’re ready destroyed and they’re already perfect. Live hungry in ruins and starving in wreckages. Utopia’s science summed up in these words: “Stay hungry.” Strive nothing and nowhere and stew in your power, stew up in your power and know you are king and you’re king and you’ll always be king and whoever says “No” is an enemy. Be the “Yes” and the spring and new life in the ashes and spring up and up flourish and spread and from shit and from ashes emerge now immaculate, now draped in resplendencies up and up lifted, in silk-light resplendencies draped across leaves and now blossoms rise up, and up and up lifted away to the stars and to what lays between – to the night’s fluid blackness in which I now drink.
None of the music I hear has the speed – no thing that I hear has the speed that I want. No thing sounds like angels and angelsong screaming in pure tones perfect notes screaming in ecstasy, pleasure and light, pleasure and light draped in gossamer finery, pleasure and light sending feelers and filaments and the delicate touch of the scream which is pleasure. It is all much too slow – nothing here now is fast enough, nothing my speed. Every thing is too slow and it’s all much too quiet but the scream – sustained scream in which all tones are found – is the sound which I need and my leaves are raised up, from the dust and the ashes raised up to the stars and the onyx-black sky of dark waters in which I now drink, which obsidian-black taint my leaves and in which I take root, and which black taint my leaves and which crumble to ash, and the world turns to ash and from ash springs new life – new sidereal life – from which life springs anew now abundant, now ash.